The Writing Prompt Game

"You want to hear... a story?"

The man nodded, holding out a microphone attached by some external equipment to his phone. He clarified that he was an interviewer, and was asking several people in the city about their stories. So, if she wasn't busy, he wanted to hear one from her as well. After all, he added emphatically, everyone had a story waiting to be told.

Jun stared at him a moment, processing what he was asking of her, before sighing and letting her shoulders drop. "I suppose there is nothing to be done about it," she said. "If it's a story you want, it's a story you will get." She looked the interviewer dead in the eye. "But you will not be getting my story. Is that a suitable compromise?"

He said it would be fine, and let her know when he was recording.

(Sampled from John Connolly's "The Book of Lost Things" and edited for length.)

Once upon a time, there were two children, a boy and a girl. Their father died and their mother married again, but their stepfather was an evil man. He hated the children and resented their presence in his home. He came to despise them even more when the crops failed and famine came, for they ate valuable food, food that he would rather have kept for himself. He begrudged them every meager bite that he was forced to give them, and as his own hunger grew, he began to suggest to his wife that they might eat the children and thereby save themselves from death, for she could always give birth to more children when times improved.​

The interviewer grew a little pale at that thought. The girl told her story with a level expression and a glassy, faraway look in her silver eyes that made him wonder how much she believed what she was expressing. She went on.

His wife was naturally horrified, and she feared what her new husband might do to them when her back was turned. Yet she realized that she could no longer afford to feed them herself, so she took them deep, deep into the forest, and there she abandoned them to fend for themselves. Unfortunate, hm?

The children were very frightened, and they cried themselves to sleep the first night, but in time they grew to understand the forest. The girl was wiser and stronger than her brother, and it was she who learned to trap small animals and birds, and to steal eggs from nests. The boy preferred to wander or daydream, waiting for his sister to provide whatever she could catch to feed them both. He missed his mother and wanted to return to her. Some days he did nothing but cry from dawn until dusk. He desired his old life back, and he made no effort to embrace the new.​

Her gaze never wavered the entire time she spoke. The interviewer felt beads of sweat forming on his face, unable to shake the feeling that this story was more than just fiction to the girl.

In the months that followed, the girl grew happier and happier in the forest. She built a shelter, and over time the shelter became a little house. She learned to fend for herself, and as the days went by she thought less and less of her old life. But her brother was never happy and yearned always to be back with his mother. After a year and a day, he left his sister and returned to his old home, but by then his mother and his stepfather were long gone, and no one could tell him where they were. He came back to the forest, but not to his sister, for he was jealous and resentful of her. Instead, he found a path in the woods that was well-tended and cleared of roots and briars, the bushes beside it thick with juicy berries. He followed it, eating some of the berries as he went, never noticing that the path behind him was disappearing with every step that he took.

And after a time he came to a clearing, and in the clearing was a pretty little house, with ivy on the walls and flowers by the door and a trail of smoke rising from its chimney. He smelled bread baking, and a cake lay cooling on the windowsill. A woman appeared at the door, bright and merry, as his mother had once been. She waved to him, inviting him to come to her, and he did.

"Come in, come in," she said. "You look tired, and berries are not enough to fill a growing boy. I have food roasting over the fire, and a soft place for you to rest. Stay as long as you wish, for I have no children, and have long wanted a son to call my own.

The boy cast the berries aside as the path behind him vanished forever, and he followed the woman into the house, where a great cauldron bubbled on the fire and a sharp knife lay waiting on the butcher's block.​

Jun tucked a strand of hair, and just as nonchalant as she had ever been, finished off her story.

And he was never seen again.​

Her piercing gaze caused the man to shudder. The hand holding the microphone had sunk lower and lower as the tale went on, leaving him slack at the end of it all, strangely fearful of this stranger and the story she chose to tell. "I... I see," he said, clearing his throat nervously. "And that story is not yours, then?"

"Oh, heavens no," she answered, shaking her head. "It is the Woodman's Tale. And it is more my sister's story than my own. The poor girl." For the first time since they had encountered one another, a slight smile eased its way onto Jun's empty face. "Perhaps she will find her way back. Or perhaps she doesn't want to. Either way, it is not my problem. I am but an observer, and you the observer of one in kind. Just take care you don't wander too deep into this city's forest of tales, looking for something that will only fail you. All right?"

He didn't even have a chance to answer. The girl turned heel and began to walk away. By the time the man had gotten his bearings once more, she had turned a corner and disappeared from his life, only the soft and distorted recording of her voice bespeaking her existence at all.

((WHEW that was long. I've been reading this book lately, and his telling of this fairy tale made me think of my own characters. That's just the sort of nerd I am. Read the book if you like! I haven't finished it but I'm really enjoying it so far.))

Prompt: It's late at night, and your character is restless and wants to go out. Where do they go? What do they do?

 

Juniper lay in bed, gazing across the room to the balcony doors. Through the gossamer curtains, she could see the moonlight streaking through the glass and filling the room with pale, dim light. Around her waist, she could feel the heavy arm of her twin brother Valen as he slept beside her, her back to him. She gently slipped out from his arms and sat up on the edge of the bed. His skin was a shade darker than hers, but was made paler by the moonlight. Juniper brushed a lock of his unruly wavy brown hair out of his face, causing him to stir. She drew back as his arm, having previously been around her, groped the sheets and he buried his head in the pillows. Juniper sighed, pulled the sheets back up around him, and stood up.

Her bare feet were met with the inn's cold stone floor. She took in a sharp breath and wiggled her toes to get used to the feeling. She heard a snort behind her and looked around the room. Her companions were sleeping in various places in the room. Karpathos in the other bed, Bronson curled up in a chair, and Nicolai slouched against the wall snoring. Juniper let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and pulled a dressing robe over her white sleeping gown. She carefully stepped to the balcony doors and opened one just wide enough to let her slender frame through before closing it slowly and quietly behind her.

The view from the balcony was beautiful. Daldurin was a beautiful city, with tall stone buildings with pointed roofs surrounded by glistening waterfalls. The town was dark with the exceptions of a few scattered pubs and brothels which kept their fires burning through the midnight hours and the occasional lantern on the sides of main roads. The streets were quiet in a way that reminded her of her own small village not far from the city. A soft cool breeze billowed around her dress and shook her long golden curls, stirring the desire for exploration in the young cleric. Slipping through the room silently, Juniper pulled on her shoes and left the rented room. She shared a passing glance with the innkeeper and nodded as she made her way out into the dark streets of the city.

The quiet, empty roads of Daldurin were a stark contrast to the bustling scenes during the day. Juniper wound her way through alleys and marketplaces, the moonlight and her keen Aasimar and Elven eyes as her guide. She passed by busy pubs and desolate shops, enjoying being able to walk freely without crowds smothering her. As her body wandered, as so did her mind.

It had been months since she and her companions had left her small forested village of Eldaneen to explore and find adventure on order of their guild. Despite herself, Juniper felt homesick. It was only a week or so's travel to get back home from the city, but she knew she had business to attend to elsewhere. Daldurin was a hub city where the party often stayed between missions to regroup and recuperate, so Juniper was somewhat familiar with the streets. Her feet took her absentmindedly to the local temple to her deity, Sarenrae. The torches burned bright around the open air stone structure, and Juniper sat on a bench by a fire pit to think.

She thought about her adventures thus far and of her companions. They all worked well together. Nicolai, with his brute strength and alchemical brews could deal out as much savage punishment as many of the enemies they'd faced could return. Karpathos was strategic and strong, mixing light magic with his finesse with a ranseur to support Nicolai in the front lines. Bronson used his cunning and manipulative psion powers to trick the enemies into turning against themselves. Valen was a dead shot with a crossbow, picking off enemies in from afar with accurate and consecutive bolts. Juniper on the other hand... Well, she was no good in a fight. Her clerical magic and passive nature led her to only being able to heal and support her team mates. She couldn't even use a weapon.

She stared up at the bright moon, the cool wind on her face being overpowered by the warmth of the fire. It crackled loudly, but Juniper's pointed ears still picked up the sound of footsteps behind her. She turned slowly.
"Valen!"
Her brother stood at the edge of the temple grounds, his clothed haphazardly thrown on and his hair more tousled than usual. He was out of breath.
"Juniper! What are you doing out here?" he panted, leaning over with his hands on his knees.
"I stepped out for a bit, I couldn't sleep," Juniper got to her feet and held her hands on her chest. "I'm sorry."
Valen sighed and stood up, running his long fingers through his hair. "Don't just run off like that, Juniper, I was worried sick."
"I'm sorry," she repeated, "I hope I didn't wake up everyone."
"No, I just woke up by myself after you were already gone. I came out alone looking for you." Valen moved closer to her, "I figured you be here."
Juniper nodded and there was a pause between them.
Valen put his arms around her. "What's wrong?" he asked, breaking the silence.
Juniper fidgeted a bit before gazing up at her twin with her bright blue eyes that matched his. "I'm worried I'm not helping everyone enough. That I'm not doing as much as I can."
He chuckled and took her hands in his. "Juniper, how many times have you had to help bring Nicolai back from the brink of death? And remember the time he stomped into that cave full of mushrooms to get a shiny ring and ended up diseased for a whole day and you had to heal him? And all the times you've seen things we haven't? Or all the alternative plans you've made to keep us safe?"
Juniper looked down and smiled, her face turning red. "I guess so..."
"You guess so, huh? Well I know so." Valen lifted her chin up to look at him, "We all do our part and we're all equally dependent on each other. Don't ever think you're not pulling your weight after all you've done for us."

She nodded, feeling much more confident.
"Come on now, it's late," Valen said, "We should get back to bed. We've got a long day ahead of us."
"Yeah!" Juniper smiled and the two made their way back to the inn for a peaceful night.


((Ugh, that was a lot longer that I expected it to be... damn my need for over-exposition! I don't even know if that was on topic enough... and the ending was super rushed. BLEH))

Next Prompt: Your character is out on a romantic date, who is it with and what happens?

 

Cordelia toyed with the hem of her sleeve, anxiously awaiting Ivan to show up. He was always late! She should have planned better. Next time. Always next time...

She peeked out through her fringe of hair, looking to see how many people were staring. Cordi dressed flamboyantly, but hated the attention. She dressed like she did because she liked it, not because it was a statement. Grunge punk was a lifestyle and a way to express her creativity without having to speak with people. She was extremely shy and nervous around others. It may have had something to do with the fact that she was a were at. Cordelia always felt that others could see right through and know her secret.

Huffing quietly as the waiter poured her more water, Cordi flicked a long shock of hair from her face. It wasn't everyday that a tall, overly slender and willowy, bleach blonde with a partial Mohawk came into a fancy French restaurant. She was in a sleek, vintage little black dress, emphasis on the little. Her long legs spilled out from the hem, curling around the chair as she fidgeted.

Suddenly, she could smell his cologne and more than that, his smell even. Warm, spicy, with a hint of earth and musk. He smelled like fresh, clean dirt. And there he was, striding into the dining room, a nervous look on his face. He knew he was late. The tailored shirt with the beat black leather jacket did nothing to belie his tardiness in her opinion.

"Ivan."

"My love?" He tried to grin, to diffuse the annoyance at his late arrival, but it was nervous and tweaked. In fact, he was a mess. Cordelia looked stunning as usual and he couldn't even get to his compliment without seeing the frustration etched across her features
.
She sighed and stated intently at the menu as he sat. She loved him, but goodness!

PROMPT: rainy day, what's going on?

 

(Um, bit of a long read ahead, sorry, prompt is in the next post!)

Kle had never stayed inside a house this big before. His mind clicked through various words, sojourned-vacationed-within-estate-mansion-castle-enormous-spacious-vacuous-, before settling on the simple sentence. He was getting better at this, he thought, improvement-progress-development-, slowly.

It helped that the mansion- no, he had decided on 'house', mansion seemed so empty-desolate-vacuous-, but this place felt lived in-inhabited-home, it was a house, even if it did have three floors and twenty-six rooms in various lavish sizes. It was of great help that the house was so quiet-silent-soft, it let him take time to compose-construct-filter- his thoughts into something more normal-steady-solid-reliable. The gentle hush of the rain dripping off the eaves outside his window eased the calm state of a lazy Sunday into his mode of thinking.

Whether it was Sunday or not he had no idea, which might have been odd except for the fact unless he was at sea he really kept no track of time at all. It all seemed to rush-skip-jump-fly by. Not like his current 'house'-mates-acquaintances-friends, at all. They seemed so very soft and tangible to him compared to the heightened rapidity flowing through his fingers in the grip of the city on the hillside below. He was lucky they had found him right off the ship.

Leopold was the one who had recognized him, knowing that Kle was very seldom one for vocalization, especially when ensconced in the verbacious realm of absolute uncertainty that the city provided, and had directed-guided-lead him to the house in which he now stood-dallied-lingered. Their ship's sometimes scientist and explorer, one Leopold Jacqueson Hughes, who appeared to believe that Kle was not nearly as slow-witted-dumb-voiceless-wordless as everyone else always assumed. Kle had decided early on that Leopold was his favourite ship-mate, even if he wasn't always on the ship.

He was now warm and dry and within the realm of quiet-peace-calm instead of soaking in the pitter-patter patterns of the drops that fell from the sky to land in unpredictable waves that went spinning out into the puddles of cobblestones by the pier.

It occurred to the quietly introspective and altogether too active mind of Kle Ylnam Yxes that he had yet to try and thank Leopold for granting him a room in his house for the time being, that was to say- until the captain had sorted affairs and sent word that the ship was ready to sail again. Which was also to say- after the current storm had abated-ceased-desisted. Which meant that he had ample time to seek out his maritime savior and grant the few small words that might succeed in escaping from Kle's tied too tight yet too loosely strung tongue to express his gratitude.

Instead of holding his position to carefully organize the very specific words he was hoping on planning to say, a task which he knew could keep him occupied all day, Kle spun slowly on his heel and began the rather more simple task of hunting down the person he wished to say the words to.

A rather more simple task that had less chance of being interrupted by unexpected circumstances which would keep him from his goal, but which still not only had the chance to distract him, it made sure that it did.

In the form of one very lonely musical note slipping down from the top of the stairs at the eastern end of the first floor hallway.

There was a small stain-glass window with a bench seat perched at the top of the stairs, in which currently lingered the lethargically melancholy form of Leopold's younger brother, Promisiuth. Promith's slender frame was curled around his violin, not in any proper position to play it that Kle could see, yet, as he inched closer, one languid hand drew back and slid the bow along the strings almost completely parallel to the bridge, as if the wielder had all the proper posture in the world with room to do so. It always amazed Kle that the younger of the two brothers could only play his violin if he was curled or hunched around it. Let him lounge and play idly and the sound was sweet and carried a melody that could melt the coldest of hearts, yet make him stand or sit up straight and the utter static of the notes that rang from the instrument could be considered what was capable of freezing a heart in the first place.

And so the draping of lanky limbs in front of him did startle Kle with its mournful tone. It was probably this and only this that led to the following exchange:

"Something wrong?" The phrase, one Kle had heard often on the decks of the ship where he was certain no wrong could happen, had slipped from his mouth so completely free of waver or stutter that both parties froze at the end of it.

"Eh, wrong?" Promith replied after a moment, his somber blue orbs slowly drifting from the speckled view offered by the windowpane to meet the uneasy gaze offered by Kle's curious pink eyes, as if taking the time to assure himself that he had indeed heard three whole syllables come from the man in front of him, "No, I do not believe anything is wrong."

Bobbing his head quickly with a small nod, Kle was about to take Promith at his word and turn-run-flee back to the stairs in search of Leopold, when the desolate violinist continued.

"If I were to say something was horribly tragic and the unfairness of it all was too much for a lover's soul like mine to bear," he swept his right hand through the air, creating a dramatic arc with the bow still grasped lightly in his fingers, "Then yes, by that definition I would reply, that I would believe something then is very wrong."

Kle could only blink once in response, his head slowly cocking to the side until his bangs rested along the side of his face, as if it were the only way he could convey his confusion. Fortunately, Promith deciphered the action correctly and elaborated on his explanation a little more.

"The rain is what's truly at fault, " his voice muffled slightly as he turned his face back to the window, gazing intently at whatever it was he saw on the other side, "It has separated us more than it could ever know! Oh, my sweet Victoria, I was to give you a rose today, one in hand and one in heart to paint upon your cheek. Instead you shall remain pale and colourless, ever stripped of the wonder which I see in eyes I would have let shine bright as the sea!" He set his violin aside, gracefully throwing his hands in the air once they were free to express his lament, "And instead I shall remain tucked inside, safe and sound, yet with a world as grey and drab as the rain in which you sit, waiting for me to come and bring the yellow of sun and the blue of sky to your gaze..."

Kle waited until he was sure that Promisiuth had trailed off into true silence before attempting to process-decipher-analyze the narrative which was spread before his ears. It appeared as if the poor young man had some lady love waiting for him to visit that day, but the rain had kept him inside and away from her? The way he continued to stare into the garden, where only an overfull fountain and a rather tall statuette of a be-robed womanly flower gatherer resided, almost led Kle to think his lady-love was hiding somewhere among the greenery just outside window.

Taking a chance that maybe today was his day to communicate most effectively, he laid a gentle hand upon the neck of the violin, running his fingers along the strings so that only a wispy flutter of a noise escaped the vibration they incited, "Hear?"

The pale blue eyes turned his way once more, lazily following the curve of his arm down to the violin. Promisiuth's gaze remained dull-dim-unfocused for the briefest of seconds before they snapped to attention, widening with the smile that spread from his lips as the implication sunk in.

"That's it!" He cried, grasping Kle's hand in his own to shake it even as he was moving it away from the varnished instrument on the bench, his other hand deftly gripping the violin and spinning it up to its resting place between his shoulder and his chin, "You're absolutely right; even if I cannot go to her to paint her world in colour, I can at least liven it with a little music to warm her ears and the heart within her breast, and at last keep her company through this foul weather!"

Without another word Promith had darted down the hall, no doubt in search of a closer window so that his happy tune could reach to whomever it was he wanted it to go. Kle himself was still bound in confusion, but as the case of Promith's absentee lady-love was not his chief reason for wandering the mansion-house-home, he concluded the best course of action was to simply press on and think back upon this occurrence at a later point in time.

It wasn't too much longer that the light and cheery melody more familiarly associated with the younger brother's prowess with the stringed instrument began to float through the walls and absorb the quiet-calm-peace of the mans-hou-home into its happy rhythm. Kle found his fingers softly tapping at his pantleg and a small smile curling into his face at the sound right as he arrived at his initial destination.

(Apparently, you can't post something with more than 10,000 characters, so I have to bump a small section and the prompt into the next post, I swear I didn't mean for it to get this long @~@ )

 

(Here's the rest!)

The taller, broader, more gently jovial of the two brothers was standing at his desk, reading through the notes of some voyage or another when Kle stepped into his office. Papers and books lined every inch of the walls and covered most of the floor, stacked in some places so high they could have been used for tables. There was actually one stack in the corner holding up a lamp and a small ink station. Even so, elder brother that he was, Leopold had paused halfway through a paragraph to listen to the change in atmosphere with approval, his eyes crinkling in the corners with his smile.

It was only another moment or two before he took notice of Kle standing in his doorway. Leopold arched a brow and offered a small lopsided grin to Kle before setting down his notes and providing his guest with his full attention.

Kle, for his part, decided to take note of his earlier absentminded approach to speaking and took a deep breath before opening his mouth to say, in a clear and un-stuttering voice, "Thank you."

(I have a feeling this is a lot longer than I meant it to be, and my focus started wavering at the end, so it might be a bit wonky. I might come back tomorrow and make it better when I'm more awake @-@ )

*A Note on Kle: I spent quite a bit of time researching language and memory disorders for Kle and the closest I could understand about how his memory with language works would be describing it as an 'expressive' language disorder sometimes known as tachyphrasia induced by rapid involuntary semantic memory retrieval - basically, when he tries to use a word or begin a sentence, his brain pulls up all the other words that could have been used and tries to fire them all out his mouth at once until his attempts at speech are a cluttered sputtering mess, so he sticks to one or two syllable phrases most of the time(since the language and speech parts of the brain are located in a different area than the auditory reception and written word retention areas, he has much less issues with these, but still some difficulty if there's too much going on around him for him to focus). He's actually an amnesiac, with his tachyphrasia having been induced by the same head injury that stole his memory; he could communicate normally before that.

Prompt: Someone bought your character their favourite snack/treat/sweet: what is the snack, who bought it, are they excited to eat it?

 

From the bedroom, he could smell cookies in the oven, and he wondered if this was all a lie, if, after he'd protected her, he'd gone to heaven.

No, Morte reminded himself, if this were heaven, someone would have told you how amoral the life you lead was. He didn't deny, it would be easier to go to heaven, particularly if Katherine could come, but as he slowly, methodically got to cleaning the blisters on his eye socket, he realized neither of them would ever be allowed it again: him for what his sinner's body craved, her for loving him.

His traitorous thoughts demanded how he could have let an angel debase herself so, just for him, for someone who at least used to be just an object. The answer was simple, because he didn't let her, Katherine just did it.

There are light footsteps up the stairs, her old heels absent, of course, after the incident. The incident that had been his fault, after all Grim never would have known her if she'd never come to rescue him. He cringed to think about what a demon like him would do to a defenceless angel...

The door interrupted Morte's thoughts, as Katherine entered, offering him a cookie. Neither spoke, eyes everywhere but each other as he began to eat, the crunching being the only sound to spare them for silence. Eyes locked for an instant, her dark ones to his blue.

Both spoke at once, to assuage their consciences, "I'm sorry."

Katherine continued, looking down. "I-I remember what I did," she gestured to her failed attempts at healing, "a-and I'm sorry. I-I know that what I did was... And I'm sorry." She barely got the words out, hating the vivid memories of who she'd been when she fell apart.

Morte looked up at her, "that was... Please never again. But that was my fault. If you'd never loved me, you'd never have met grim, and lost your mind and..." He trailed off, not wanting to remind either of them of what they'd been subjected to, "I'm sorry you loved me."

"I'm not."

There was a more peaceful solence, as he found himself better able to savour the moderately burned cookies she'd made him, knowing, at least, he'd held onto the one thing he needed.

Prompt: the one thing your character would never tell anyone.

 

Sam could be a tough nut to crack. Or so I thought to myself, watching him walk at his leisurely pace ahead of me through the quiet town of Innsmouth. From his mouth sprouted a cigarette, glowing a dull orange in the misty haze of the world at this Gods-forsaken hour, and small plumes of smoke separated themselves from the fog to drift upwards towards the clouded skies.

What was it he didn't want anyone to know?

"It's over here, detective." My voice called through the cold and the wet, sounding appropriately dismal. He stopped, black curls twisting in the soft yellow of a street lamp as he turned to regard me with a raised eyebrow. The hem of his jacket hung heavy, thick with layers of mud and filth it had acquired over the years and he never gave it the chance to shed.

"The body?"

It echoed. Ears without eyes seemed to perk in the darkness of the seaside town, keen on overhearing a conversation they desperately wanted to be a part of. For being a seaside village, it certainly seemed claustrophobic. We were nowhere near the ocean though; instead a small abandoned courtyard sprawled out to the east beside us. What used to house itself within I couldn't say: all I knew was that this was where it chased me, and this was where it stopped.

The trees seemed to lean in curiosity and I nodded, waving a hand in the air. His eyes flashed, deep and tired from what one might mistake for centuries of searching misery before he sighed out a plume of fog and stalked quietly over to me, his hands buried deep into pockets. Warmth was a precious thing out here, and I didn't blame him for seeking it where he could.

But I wasn't paying him for his discomfort. And I sure as hells knew no one else was. The shoes would've been black, not grey. The jacket crisp and fresh, not brown and tattered. His office something out of the films where the great Marlowe made his business, not a relic from under the Pinkertons thumb.

"Lead on, sister."

His voice was rough and monotone, the cigarette quickly depleting to nothing but a burnt filter. Soon it was dropped to the ground and doused beneath a heavy foot, and so I turned and lead.

It wasn't far. I had seen the small house on the hill, and hoping for some amount of safety within its abandoned walls I had run towards it in great haste. That was, until I heard the footsteps stop.

A few yards ahead, I could see it. It was black and without shape, without form. The 'blood' that once ran through it did no longer, leaving it in a pool of inky blackness that barely stood out from the grey and brown winter foliage around.

Something told me to stop, a deep tug in my gut, and I listened. Boots dead in their tracks I stood, peering back at him with wide grey eyes and watching as he carelessly stalked closer.

I had simply asked him to be there. A favor. One I had no right to request, and yet there he was. I was a curiosity to him, I knew that, but from everything I'd heard not even a dying flame could pull this man into the heart of the fire.

Something tugged at his brow as he passed. His lips, without the smoke between them, were tugged taut into a thin line. His brow formed a crease in the middle, his eyes fallen low in something resembling concern.

...concern.

"This is bad, Oak."

He turned to me, trying to hide something in his face but I managed to see straight through it.

Just like everyone, Sam had a secret. I think that secret was simply that he cared.

---

(Lovecraft call out heyyoooo. Written in the voice of a doll I own, about a doll I'd someday LIKE to own. If anyone can ever meet my criteria...also I WILL NOT LET THIS THREAD DIE I LOVE IT.)

Prompt: Everyone has fears. Write about your doll/character facing, almost facing, or thinking about theirs.

 

This one is short.

He had arrived a year ago and now this group he’d joined, this band of brothers and their lovers had become like family to him.
Still he was alone.
He didn’t long for his home planet but he feared he would remain alone, not quite fitting into the family of humans. His tattoos hid that he was partially electro-mechanical, the circuitry cleverly hidden in the riot of lines, shadows and figures. He feared that they would eventually find out he was an alien and that he could read their minds. He couldn't let any of them get too close to him, though he found himself attracted to one person. He couldn't risk getting too attached and it bothered him, kept him apart. Alone.
One too many times he had acted on someone’s thoughts, though managed to shrug off the incredulity on their faces when one of their fondest unspoken wishes became reality.
“You’re a mind reader!”
fear
“Wow, how did you know I wanted this?”
fear
“This is just what I was wishing for!”
fear
He knew that they really didn’t think that he could read their minds, because he actually could, but there was always the fear that someday one of them would. When that happened, he would have to leave and he couldn't bear the thought of leaving. So he remained and so did the fear.

Prompt: In a forest setting there is a rare sighting.

 

(Three characters for the price of one! Noa, the clear-seeing lawyer, Nathaniel, the demon-claimed kid, and Cassimalar, the demon. The 'rare sighting' would be, uh, anyone seeing Cassimalar.)

"They can't have seen you," Nathaniel said, staring down into Cassimalar's golden eyes. "No one can see you, that's what you said."

The demon shrugged slightly, wings rustling, and twitched their tail in the grass. "It's not impossible, Nat," they said in their rough, hissing voice. "Normal humans don't see anything, or convince themselves of that. Other beings' eyes are less easy to fool."

"But that doesn't make sense--I mean, it was just a circus, right?" Nathaniel frowned, looking at his companion. "I thought you said they were safe!"

"Well, this is unexpected."

The boy whirled away from his companion at the unexpected interruption, and stared, confused, at the strange woman. She smiled slightly at him from where she was leaning against a tree.

"I was told that there was something strange about you, but I wasn't expecting you to have a demon with you."

"Who are you?" The boy snapped, moving to stand between his companion and the stranger. "Why are you here?"

She sighed, and stepped a little further into the small clearing. "My name is Noa Ascalon. The Ringmaster asked me to look into you."

"Why?"

A shrug. "You're from a perfectly normal family, as far as anyone could tell, but you're marked with a demon's claim, and don't seem to have taken any harm from it."

"Cas wouldn't ever hurt me!"

Noa raised an eyebrow. "Cas? Is that its name?"

Cassimalar made a noise like boulders grinding together, and Nathaniel felt the gentle scratch and tug of the demon climbing up his back. He stood rock-steady as Cas moved to crouch on his head, used to the demon perching on him, and let out a quiet breath of relief. Cas wouldn't let anyone separate them.

"I am Cassimalar, a Count of Hell. I am not an it," they said, in Common Elvish.

Noa's brow rose for a split second, before her expression smoothed into polite interest. "My apologies, Count." she replied in the same language, bowing slightly, before returning to English. "It's rare that those of your rank take interest in humans. I was expecting a more straightforward possession or similar, when the Ringmaster sent this case to me."

"And what does Sinclair want you to do about me?" Cassimalar asked, voice deepening, wings mantling, protective and possessive, over Nathaniel's head. "I warn you, I will not allow us to be separated."

Noa smiled, faint and cold. "And my wife will put a slug of blessed silver through your forehead before she allows you to lay a claw on me, Count. The Ringmaster asked nothing of me, simply pointed me towards you two. Since all seems to be well, I'll just leave your boy with my card."

Nathaniel blinked, as the woman drew a business card out from a pocket in her jacket and held it out to him. Cautiously, he walked forwards and took it from her. Reading it, his brow crinkled in confusion.

"Why would I need a lawyer?" he asked. "I'm just a kid. I'm not going to...do anything."

Noa shrugged. "But if you get into trouble for something Cassimalar does, it's better to have someone who knows the truth. I have a number of clients who are in similar situations to you--various supernatural entanglements make the law a little tricky to deal with."

"And your price for this?" Cas asked, still protective, their tail shifting to wrap gently around Nathaniel's throat, comforting and familiar in this strange situation.

Noa smiled, bright and gentle and unnerving.

"Oh, I've already been paid. I'm curious about you two--if you exceed the retainer I already have, I'm sure we can work something out to discount your court fees."

Nathaniel felt ice down his spine. That didn't sound at all friendly, no matter what tone of voice the lawyer had used. Cassimalar hissed, furious.

"Do not threaten me or mine, or I'll eat those clear eyes of yours, lawyer."

She bowed, ever so slightly, once more. "It was not intended as a threat, Count. I am rebuked." Her phone chimed, a soft, unintrusive sound, and she blinked. "And now, as fascinating as this conversation has been, I have to go chase some brats out of my kitchen before they make a mess. Good day, and please, don't hesitate to call if you need me." She turned, and was gone among the trees before Nathaniel could ask her to wait, to explain, to tell him what in the world the Cirque he had attended weeks ago had to do with this, who the Ringmaster was, who could possibly have paid her to act as his lawyer.


Prompt: Fireworks! What's the occasion, who is your character with, do they love it, hate it, are they indifferent?

 

The space program always outdid themselves at closing ceremonies every year. This time was no different, as Elliote and Sadie stood shoulder to shoulder in the arena. They had just received honors in exploratory space, being done of the first to have a successful departure and return after a year.

Sadie smiled up at the tall blond man next to her, remembering how much of a thrill the ride had been. The months had flown by and they discovered that they worked well together and also as a couple. She jumped, her hair resettling around her shoulders in a soft cloud as the fireworks display started. The music had been playing gently before, but now burst forth in a crescendo in time with the fiery explosions. Sadie watched and grinned, she always loved fireworks.

Elliote turned and smiled down at his girlfriend just as the fireworks started. He had felt her beaming up at him. His blindness gave his other senses more purpose and he could always tell when Sadie was smiling. It felt like warm sunlight on chilled skin. It was amazing that she had come to trust him and vice versa this past year. Neither had been sure how being romantically involved would affect their work and studies, but it made for an ideal partnership. He turned his face to the sky he couldn't see. A sky he knew was filled with stars, and light, and bursts of color. He could feel the differences in explosives and knew from Sadie, what some of the results should look like. Her excitement was enough for him. Elliote could feel it course through her as he took her hand.

The grand finale started and he smiled up at the stars and smoke, closing his eyes against the pure darkness and imagined the colors and shapes that might be there. He liked this much better.


PROMPT: Someone finds a genie and gets three wishes, with a time limit and some other restrictions...

 

SPOILER: Expletives!

"Three wishes? Really..."

I twisted my face and crossed my arms, staring down the djinn. He looked nothing like you'd expect. Pointed shoes were instead wingtips, rich red vest and harem pants replaced with a stylish three-piece suit. His hair wasn't under a turban, but instead a bowler hat. With a mustache thin, slick and dark, I trusted him about as much as you would fire that promised not to burn you.

"Go fuck yourself, alright?"

I waved a hand in the air, landing in a finger pointed straight at his bumped nose. Smooth tan skin wrinkled into an offended frown.

"I wish for coin, you give me lead. I wish for love, you give me a dog. I wish to be the smartest in the land, you transport me to a realm of dunces. I know your damn games, and I'm too damn tired to fall for them, got it? That's leaving out the cross-dimensional hell you'd rip us a new one into."

Wisps of flame wreathed his eyes, the djinn's true nature showing through the illusory facade. His plump lips wrought themselves into an iron frown. Someone didn't like being told off.

"Miss Oak, you don't seem to understand. Three free wishes. If I like you, I can bend the rules a little, you know? No tricks, no plays, no false moves..."

He just wouldn't give up. I was halfway through walking off, hoping he was tied to that silly little bottle of his that sat forgotten on the ground, but I was sadly mistaken. Footsteps were silent, probably because they weren't actually feet, so when I whirled around I was only slightly surprised to see him face to face.

"No, you don't understand. This plane we're in? Wet tissue paper. You fell down here by mistake. Imagine a slow sinkhole, each universe one handful of sand. Little by little, beads of sand tumble down and land down the drain. You know what we are? We're the fucking drain. You're the sand. Know what's beneath the sinkhole? Nothing. Darkness. The hells. Eternity. Know what moves those little pieces of sand down, taking more and more with them as they tumble...?"

My finger was in his face again, wisps of black hair fluttering about my own. The wind whipped it harshly, electric stings hitting my rosy cheeks in the cold.

"You do, jack. Strong, upstream magics. Tearing away little pieces of other worlds and carelessly tossing them down to us just to see what happens. What sticks, what misses, what plunges a hole through the fabric of space bigger than what did in the dinosaurs and through that comes the little nasties every world pretends they don't have. So while you're perfectly happy to mess with my head and give me a handful chess pawns when I ask for a feast fit for a king, I'm not happy to watch this plane get destroyed piece by piece by bored demons and forces I supposedly know nothing about."

It looked like it was beginning to sink in. Beneath the cool grey day another chain of cars hissed by, spraying my feet cold with a silent pattering of fallen rain. Somewhere in the distance a horn honked, sirens blared, signs of life sounded themselves loud throughout a bustling city. A reminder of what there was. A reminder of what there was to lose.

"So take your outdated jokes, your unfunny pranks and your oversized magical ego and get the fuck back upstream and leave us to our scavenging before the mindless, leaderless archons start barking and pin you back to your bottle. Only this time with their own magics, and trust me when I say it isn't pleasant."

A slew of colors played out on his face. First it was displeasure, annoyance at a peon of a human telling him off. Then came the thoughts. Dusty gears ground off their buildup and cobwebs snapped as they began to turn for the first time this century and he realized just what he was, and just where he was.

Sooner or later they'd learn. I just hoped it was sooner rather than later.

"Got it now?"

---

Oak lives in a strange, strange world.

PROMPT: Someone just stood your character up for a date. Sitting alone in a restaurant, what goes through their head? What do they do?

 

Ah! Can I snag this prompt and post later tonight?! I have an idea for it, but my lunch break at work is almost over T^T

Edit: Haha! Here it is!

The dusty, worn down wooden cafe was quiet. Not that it wasn't usually, but when a short, tanned mercenary wanders in with leather on his shoulders and a sword at his hip, the rest of the customers tend to cloister themselves as far away from him as possible. He honestly found it very amusing to watch, even if it did make his lonely vigil that much more empty and solitary. Maybe he should prefer it that way, though; too many people tended to make her nervous.

Offering the coffee soaked air in front of him a quiet sigh, Byrnar lifted his hands from the table to run them through his crudely cut mocha hair. He'd only been waiting an hour. Well, maybe two, but he'd long since given up counting how long he would occupy the same booth at the same cafe at the same time of day at irregular two to three month intervals to scare the same customers who really should have gotten used to him by now. They'd been toying with this little game for the past three years, which, in some sort of retrospect, should have lessened his eagerness to come.

Regardless of retrospect, or maybe even in spite of it, since it seemed to work against him a lot, he would always be excited to keep coming.

In his mind she would always be that much closer to actually appearing, drifting through the hazy atmosphere of the cafe to slide grumpily into the seat across from him. The same way she had six years ago when they first met, in an inn about three towns and half a mountain range to the west, and with much less a reason than she would have to show up now.

He couldn't blame her, though. After all, he was pretty sure he had fallen in love with her, first.

She had reminded him of Spring. Not the return of soft sunlight and vibrant colours, or the gentleness of rain that cleanses the ground, but the audacity and temper of a thunderstorm, ready to shake the trees and spear the skies with bolts of light that none could rightfully ignore. Her personality was as rough as her oddly lilting voice and she had a stubborn streak as long as her sunshine hair and as deep as her sea island eyes, but she was also as gentle as the soft green leather that let her blend in with the forest shadows at her back.

Throughout the years, their numerous happenstance meetings and partings had filled them with the expectation that they would always end up seeing each other again. From the secret smile she kept curled under her upper lip just for him whenever they met again, he could almost assume she enjoyed those times as much as he did.

It had been rather out of nowhere, his realization, slamming into him in the middle of a quiet path on the road to somewhere that had really seemed less important at the time.

His lips quirked up into his signature soft smile when he remembered how calm the day was, how peaceful and amiable her companionship had been.

Until retrospect came to bite him where it hurt again, realizing only after the words had left his mouth that just saying "I love you" without any chance for her to prepare for it was probably a really bad idea.

She had frozen as if his icy blue eyes had pierced her to the core, and been gone before he could blink them twice to thaw her.

The world around him had instantly turned melancholy and dull, the fear that he had forever lost her company only matched by the fear he'd seen in her eyes of the phrase he'd so carelessly uttered. Was that why she'd run? Because the first time he'd said it, it didn't seem like he had meant it? Or was it because his sincerity had claimed it, and he'd meant it too much?

He'd never be absolutely certain. And once again he wasn't sure if it mattered, for she'd returned a full two weeks later as if nothing had happened and tried to resume their journey. He'd decided his mouth was not going to mess him up again and didn't question either her departure or re-arrival. Then they'd ended up in this very city, across the street from this very cafe, and he'd tried to come up with a solution to the problem which very much tore at his heart.

He'd asked her to dine with him, formally, if she'd like. And he'd asked her many times since.

She never actually refused, but neither did she actually agree, and not once had she actually shown up. It was always a vague answer here, a maybe there, or sometimes even just a non-committal grunt. At some point he'd thought maybe he'd been pestering her, and she just wanted him to drop it, so he hadn't asked her to join him. She'd sulked for days as if she'd done something wrong but couldn't figure out how to make it right. And he'd decided he would never not ask her again.

So here he was, at almost sunset, still waiting, still alone, still smiling softly to himself. When the cafe closed for the night in five minutes he would have to leave and try again the next time they passed through. One of these days Nek would find her courage, would saunter in as if she'd never doubted what she wanted to do at all, though her hidden smile would be filled with apologies. One of these days she might even let him kiss them away.

Today, however, he had been stood up again. He didn't worry about it too much; she'd be waiting for him at the inn, her hands filled with whatever street fair had caught her fancy and smelled too good to buy just a little. She'd maybe even have been waiting just as long as he'd been waiting for her.

In the end he didn't mind at all if things continued like this for a little while more.


Bonus: At the other end of the city, Nek was muttering to herself and banging her forehead against the brick wall that lined a small park, "I was going to make it this time, I was going to find it," her repeated rant eliciting odd looks from passersby.

Her gaze lifted to glare at the setting sun and she grumbled darkly at the source of her defeated mood, "Why does this city have to be so big?! I just have to find one tiny cafe!"

Instead of fighting it anymore, she dug into her tunic sleeve and pulled out a few coins, hoping to find another street vendor with some tantalizing treat she could offer to Byrnar as recompense for her poor navigational skills. She really, really disliked large cities.

Prompt: The summer heat is taking its toll and your character really just wants to find a way to cool down, what do they do?

 

After her 35th calculus problem, Eilis could officially say she was bored. Free periods were great - provided she had charcoal or canvas or crayons, she could do nothing with a two-pound textbook and a fifty-three cent school issue pen. Not to mention, the summer heat was getting to her. Eilis could feel beads of sweat slipping down her jaw line.

“Sonya, I’m going to die. Why the yellow flipper slipper did you want our free time to be taken outside? It’s May and we’re in Texas.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Eilis. Did you get a positive or negative answer for problem 24?” The coffee-skinned ballerina didn’t bother looking up from her studies, she was used to her best friend’s antics at this point.

“I didn’t do the even problems, Sonya. The book has the answers for the odd ones in the back.” The young Irish woman smirked and pulled her unruly hair into a very messy pony tail. “How are you not dying of heat stroke or death by math? We have two days left, Sonya! Two days of finals and then we are off for summer holiday.”

“First off, that’s cheating in a major way. If Mr. Young finds out you didn’t so much as attempt the work,” Sonya paused, “you’ll be back in the principal’s office. Secondly, it’s only about 98 degrees! I wouldn’t keel over in this kind of heat.”

“You didn’t say anything about math murder.” Eilis mumbled as she was distracted by something behind her testy bestie. Specifically, she had locked on to the water gently flowing through the biology department’s riparian area. Sonya was saying something about academic integrity but Eilis didn’t care. She was hot. She was sweaty. There was a miniature, man-made river about twenty feet away that was begging to be used as a swimming pool.

“Screw it.” Eilis kicked of her shoes and began pulling off random pieces of clothing in no particular order (even if it meant undershirt before uniform blouse). Sonya was staring at her with wide-eyed horror. While this was typical Eilis behavior, it was Eilis-at-the-mall or Eilis-just-found-a-puddle behavior, it was not normal at school unless...

“You are not going diving in the riparian area again are you?” Sonya remembered with alarm the last and only time her friend had gone swimming at school. Eilis had convinced two fifth graders to compete in a relay race with her on her eighth birthday in the same reservoir she was currently fixated on. “For the sake of everything you hold dear, cover up!” Eilis’s modesty was now only preserved by her cotton bra and panties, not that she seemed to mind or care.

“Why? I’m going for a swim.”

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Prompt: Your character finds a friend's camera and decides to skim through the photos. What do they find and how do they react?

 

Katherine's lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval when she entered the kitchen, seeing Azrael's possessions strewn across the counter. The young... Whatever she classified as these days, had staggered in late last night, had said nothing, atypical for someone usually so full of empty words.

She supposed she should clean up, relocate the coat to the closet. Sweep the things her purse had vomited across the table back from whence they came, and move the assorted occult-looking supplies somewhere further from the food.

It was as she'd started to do that that she noticed the little camera, battered from it's travels. The part of her that was still an angel told her she couldn't possibly invade Azrael's privacy so much. The rest of her powered the little camera on, and started to flip through. The oldest pictures surprised her--a couple of a garden. One or two of an older couple of angels, she supposed these were the younger girl's family, before she died. Gradually, they shifted to what looked like high school yearbook photos, with a considerable number of pictures of a boy with brown hair, bags under his eyes, and needle marks up his arm. There were a few blurry night time ones, where the same boy and a group of equally high friends all crowded into the frame, before finally, one of the boy kissing the photographer: an angel with bluish eyes and brown hair.

"I knew the black and white thing was a dye job," she muttered, grinning to herself a little as she scrolled through the pictures of the girl and the addict. Then, it resumed a more still life quality. All of the pictures came through a window, and were of things in the house. There was one of a knife, with a sticky note on it, reading "here's the key, find a door."

The next photo was dated a full year later. She'd taken a ludicrous amount of time in hell, to train as a reaper. The picture was of Morte and Katherine's front door. From there there were a few of Morte and even fewer of Katherine. Mostly photos of the people whose souls she claimed.

Then the boy came back. He looked great, less worn, less needle tracks, but there were so few pictures, cause he'd died so soon. Then her photos lost coherency. There were selfies of the Azrael Katherine knew, with black eyeshadow practically tattooed on, and the black and white hair, and nudes if people of all genders and species, before a photo of what looked to be a necromantic ritual from a bad horror movie. The girl at very least had a flair for the dramatic. Photos of the boy, undead and a lavish but tacky room that Katherine assumed the girl designed in her megalomania phase, and then nothing for a long time, before a slew of pictures of different places, different faces, people in varying states of undress, including about a week of photos of a female gargoyle. Oh god. That was Chauntelle.

Finally, there were a few of the inside of what looked like a prison, and then another stint where she didn't take many, before the usual photos of the people whose souls she had to claim. And then there was a photo of a familiar shock of red hair. Katherine nearly dropped the camera, shakily exploring the photos, seeing more of him, getting closer to Grim. The. There were a few of Azrael in compromising positions, bloodied and beaten a little. No wonder she was silent...

The final photo in the camera roll was one of Grim, smirking and waving at the camera. Katherine just wrote one line onto a piece of paper and photographed it. "I understand."

Prompt: your character in their favourite season.

 

Adair.

The young man groaned, and rolled over, turning his back to Gwen. She pouted, and called him again. Adair!

Still asleep, he shrugged his blankets higher and shifted deeper into his pillow. Sighing, the snow fae rocked back on her heels and decided that this was worth being utterly unignorable.

Pendragon.

A shudder ran through Adair's entire frame, and he sat bolt upright, completely awake, hand reaching for something that was not there. Gwen tucked her hands into the pockets of her trousers and smiled, even as the young man turned to her, outraged.

"Céard sa diabhal?" he snapped, back to the tongue of his birth in his shock. She just kept smiling, as he wrestled his way back to English.

"What was that for?" he asked, scrambling out of bed. "That's not even my name."

If it wasn't your name, Adair, you wouldn't react to it.

"Whatever. What did you want at," he checked the clock, "three in the godsforsaken morning? I have to be at the hospital in two and a half hours."

Let's go outside.

"Why." He said, even as he got out of bed and started pulling on more appropriate clothing for outside.

You'll see.

Rolling his eyes, her descendant pulled his black cap snugly over his skull and wrapped a scarf around his neck. "Fine. Show me whatever awful thing I'm being dragged into now."

It's not awful, Gwen said. Now come on.

Tucking his keys into his pocket, Adair gestured for her to lead the way, following her out of the apartment and down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

Stepping out into the winter night, Gwen breathed deeply, the cold, sharp air filling her lungs, even as frost rimed the pavement under her feet in delicate patterns. It wasn't silent, it never could be in this city, but there was still the sweet witching-hour-stillness of the late hour, as the first snowfall of the winter drifted gently to the concrete.

"Oh," Adair said quietly, as he entered the courtyard behind her, the thin layers of snow and ice crackling under his boots.

Gwen laughed, and turned to see him, head tilted to the sky, snowflakes settling gently on his black cap and grey jacket, on the scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. The fae blood in him isn't strong enough to hear the snowflakes as they sing, welcome welcome welcome well-met prince of winter, as they laughed and vied to settle upon his brow and shoulders, like the crown and mantle of Gwenhwyfar's long-dead husband. Still, it made Gwen smile, to see some touch of the world she once knew.

Adair tilted his head up to the sky, eyes closed and the faintest hint of a smile on his face, and for a moment, he no longer looked exhausted by long hours or strange friends, but instead utterly content and peaceful. Perhaps he could not hear the first snowfall of winter honoring him, but he certainly knew that he was being welcomed home.


Prompt: Your character is at a white tie event. Why are they there? What's the occasion? Are they happy to be there, or is it the worst thing ever to happen to them?

 

The women arriving looked as a grove in springtime, blossoming bright with baubles shining in candlelight, looking like drops of flowers in the fields. Robes and dresses of fine silks spilled out over wet earth as a tide rushing out towards the sands, leaving not water but instead softly bent leaves in their wakes. There was music, joyous and bright, floating through the air, and it was nothing less than a perfect accompaniment to the scent of roasting quail and baked treats being brought in offering.

It was time the trees went to sleep. Their leaves, now the colors of flame, slowly left their branches in ash as they fell down to lay a bed for the oncoming winter slumber. As was tradition, the season had been well under way. But the festival itself was saved for autumn in its prime. For here, and for now.

At first, they came in twos and threes. Their gowns swept the ground as if floating, moving in pairs side by side to the rare event. Elaborate crowns of bent twigs and berries adorned their heads, tapered ears hanging with decorative garlands of fall flowers and the last of summer's blooms, dried and preserved for enjoyment through the colder months.

The great feast of the fallen leaves was here.

Skeletal trees, their branches black and twisting, had been laden with candlelight in place of their missing foliage. White wax glowed, fire flicking up and around in praise and melting them into their hanging sconces. When the wicks were gone, so would be the guests. There were still many hours yet.

She, however, was already present. She had been present since the first elf set foot-fall in her forest. Present since the summer before when the leaves were green and lush, present since the early spring blossoms, since the harsh, cold winter and many years before that. Present since the beginnings of the forests, some argued, but they all knew that to be nothing more than a tale. She, oddly, was not convinced.

White-golden locks trailed waving wisps down her back, an occasional neat braid within which were entertwined the final blooms of summer. Her eyes, deep mirrors of blues and greens, flashed beneath faint brows as she smiled and took inventory of her woods.

They had always contained life. Life of her preferred sort, the kind she understood best. The kind she had made her home within.

But now they contained merriment.

Lumeriel, of course, had brought her own offerings. Within pale arms were held great bundles of holly, wreathes of leaves burning as bright as the fires contained in the small nest of candles within them. Small breads baked fresh for the birds, meats raw and tender for the beasts, seeds and nuts prayers to the land itself for bounty to last the year for man and animal alike. All, however, were offerings to the forests, and the season.

From a distance her name was called, warm and merry. They were coming in droves now, and she greeted each and every one of them warmly as if she was welcoming them into her home. A broad smile behind soft pink lips was given freely, her dress that matched the creams and browns of the sleeping forest latching onto her figure. It was ill cut but suited her figure naturally as if it has been precisely tailored, and wrapped around her like ivy climbed a tree.

The guests were here. She responded with a wave of her hand and an enthusiastic run, offering a bow and one of the candles within her nest to a newcomer. He accepted, gladly, and returned to her an offering of breads.

There may have been a frost in the air, but it didn't bother her. Beneath it was the thrill of potential, of possibility, of sleepy rememberance and the zest of life that remained chittering like finches well into the night of the seasons.

It was as much a promise as it was a gift, and for that she smiled.

Now, however, the party would begin.

---

(White-tie events for...elf-forest-spirits...are weird.)
Prompt: Christmas time / the winter solstice has come! Where is your character, what are they doing, who are they with, if anyone?

 

Christmas. When she was an angel, it was an elaborate affair. Everyone wanted to make the church beautiful for the coming of the Lord, wanted to grant the deserving humans merriment and joy (and may nothing dismay the old white merry gentlemen!)

Her family, in particular, had adored caroling and tree-trimming, and random acts of charity that they did for attention and deflected modestly after. It was all competitive modesty, competitive joy. Azrael supposed the best Christmas she'd ever had had been the year she told the family she was going to bring the spirit of the lord into the hearts and minds and all those such things, and had flown to the park Miracle and his ragtag band went to celebrate. They threw snow, and laughed, passed comparatively less hard drugs around (not that she used any anyway.) they not a fire and sang their own versions of carols.

For dinner, they'd all trudged down to the one girl's skeezy motel, and microwaved something simple, which she was sure only tasted as good as they claimed when the person eating was on drugs, but she's savoured it in spite of herself. It had felt somehow warmer than the elaborate and very showy Christmases in heaven.

And now, Miracle was dead. She was dead, and had screwed up every way they teach you not to. Her life was reduced to a cautionary tale quickly, something parents would tell their little angel babies, "don't disobey us or you'll die and end up washed up and empty, and with no where really to belong." It would be a fan favourite among parents and teachers.

For Christmas, she trudged across the street from the posh hotel she'd discovered she didn't have what it took to be a guardian in, and bought herself a cheap pizza and even cheaper booze, and downed it in the park she'd first kissed him in. She swore, tasting beer and pizza, and snowflakes on her tongue, with her eyes closed, she could go back to that exact moment and live there. Her mottled wings shrouded her, as she extended only her tongue, tasting nostalgia and love lost, a way of life lost to her. Here in the snow, eyes closed, she spent her Christmas with his ghost, and with her own, picturing a girl with brown hair, blue eyes and wings white as the snow kissing a boy with shaggy blonde hair, and an oversized coat.

Meanwhile, she watched as a couple set out to skate, and she got that telltale smell of death. Before, she'd have done whatever it took to keep them safe. Now, she just watched, as one slipped through the ice and the other helplessly tried to save them.

Merry accursed Christmas to them, she thiught, heading out from her sanctuary for her newest sacred duty.

-/-

What does your character do for their favourite holiday?

 

Hurry up and get dressed.

What’s the rush we still have time

I know but there’s always the possibility that things will go wrong. They do sometimes. Remember?

Yeah, I remember *sigh*

Here is your shirt. What did you do with your pants? Ah here they are hiding in the back of your closet. Did you hide them on purpose?

I suppose I did, especially after what happened last year. I couldn’t stand to be reminded.

Yeah, it was bad wasn’t it. This year will be different I promise.

How can you promise that, you just said…

Yeah, I know what I said but I have a good feeling about this year.

But still your rushing me because of your ‘good feeling’?

Don’t be an ass, I’ll help button your shirt while you put on your pants.

How is that gonna work? Ugh, sometimes you make me crazy. *growl*

I know, but you love me anyway. *smile*

Okay, are we ready?

Yes, this time the change won’t be a big surprise to us. So let’s make this the best Halloween yet.

Okay, let’s do this.

With a snap, creak and grinding, their faces changed, their demeanor became haughty and their smiles were the other side of cruel.

Lets’ go play!

Prompt: Invited to a picnic, by whom and what is their motive?

 

Nemo stared listlessly at the piece of paper stuck to the door in front of him. Despite his best efforts to ignore the offending new addition to the decor of his abode he could not help but glance at it throughout the morning as he idled about tending to his daily chores; now that those had been finished and there were no clients at said door who needed to be attended to there was nothing to distract him from the paper stuck to it.
Now the paper and of itself was not so offending nor the fact that it was written on as a mage Nemo himself often used such parchment and the written word to transcribe spells. However this was no spell placed upon the page that Nemo could have easily deciphered. No it was something much stranger and far more difficult to grapple with. it was an invitation.... To go out.... to lunch...
"Okay so the plan is were going to go on an adventure today! Now its not going to be one of our normal ones you know monsters or lost people or scrolls or what not so I'm sorry to disappoint you about that however its still going to be awesome! While you were still all red faced and sleepy eyed I went ahead and planned out a nice picnic for us ^-^. Look I know you've been down since the last job and....well its time we spent some time outside of the shop. Now I'm not so mean as to make you go all the way across town so just come meet me in the meadow by the crick. Okay well i expect to see you around 2 (since you take forever to get ready :p)

ps...please come."

And so Nemo stared debating the merits of adhering to the request of going out on a "picnic" verses staying put and pretending to have managed not to notice the large red piece of paper taking up half the door. On the one hand she was right the last mission had gone badly and he had retreated because of it. Nemo knew that his recent behavior had left his partner feeling isolated and worried however....perhaps that was a good thing. perhaps she would finally take his words to heart and would return to her home instead of spending her time with a dishonored mage.
On the other hand though.....did he really want her to leave? He had of course when she had first come with him but as time wore on he had come to depend on her to think of her less as another person and more as an extension of himself...as a partner.. a friend? what would it be like without her? there would be no red paper adorning his front door for one thing. Disrupting his day with a request to go on a "picnic"..... no more being told that he was a "red faced sleepy head" no more being torn from his lab with some random explanation that never really made sense....no more her....
Finally Nemo opened the door having decided on a compromise. He was not going leaving the quite sanctuary of his abode to go on some picnic. He would however venture out to do some experiments with the natural minerals in the local crick and if there just so happened to be food available afterwords he would not turn down the nurashment that would replace the calories used in said experiments.
Or at least as for as she was concerned that was going to be the reason he gave.



hello ^^ I hope that was okay ^-^ i know it wound up being a rather slow and long but well ^^; blame Nemo hes the one that thinks everything should be slow and methodical lol ^^

okay so my prompt ^^


Prompt: your character is on a date that has gone horribly wrong! what happened that turned it into such a terable date? Was it the other person? was it the food? how does your character react? do they fix the issue or pull the old bathroom window trick?

 

Warnings: language, referenced abuse, allusions to sexual content (allusions only!) kind of dark.

Rina's stomach turned. Her eyes darted about the restaraunt warily as her clammy hands clutched the utensils like they were weapons. Assassin training kicked in: find the weapons, find the exits. She eyed the window nearest her table, before picking out exactly the shortest route to the kitchen and the bathroom. Kitchen was good for assassins, there were knives, heated surfaces, heavy appliances for blunt force trauma, probably combinations of ingredients that could be toxic. Nervously, she tapped one stiletto encased foot, deciding that could equally be weapon used if she really needed to. The heels were pointed enough. The man took his set across the table. "Adrena?" He asked, pronouncing her name like 'Audrey-nah.'

Something about it set her teeth on edge, but Stella swore they'd get along swimmingly. "It's Ad-reee-na," she corrected, drawing out the middle syllable, already annoyed, though she didn't know why. "Like Adrenal gland. Stell told me your name, I think. It started with an F," she guessed, trying to give the boy a chance.

He smoothed back his raven-black hair before laughing, "not quite. Raimir--my friends just call me Ray though." Those blue eyes fixed on her and she felt herself shrink in her seat, eyes bulging, ears ringing. Ray? Stella was fucking dead. She could see blood, red blood welling up at her feet and feel rough hands as the echoes of the name ripped through her mind. Ray.

When finally, her throat allowed words to pass, she shook her head. "I... I don't... Ramir is a better name for me. Thank you." She kept her tone frosty, hiding the pain the nickname brought her. Then, to avoid more conversation about names, she added, "the food on this menu is very diverse. I can only imagine the tensions between their Oturan and Lyran cooks. They should call it 'collision' and not 'fusion,'" she quipped.

He didn't think it was funny. "I believe in Union. Amara is the future, you know? That's the world that has it right. No kings, no wars, and coexistance of alliances. I'd think the chefs would too." He buried his face in the menu, lookingg disgruntled.

Holy voids. Stella had screwed up. Captain coexistance going on a date with a former Oturan weapon. Their only fused assassin. She was half tempted to tell him what she was, but without the power to really defend herself anymore, she was loathe to be so rash. "So I take it you're Amaran?" She tried not to sound condescending, but couldn't keep her old bias from her tone. Amara was the world of whoever was too weak to keep up on Otura or Lyra.

He smiled. "High praise. No, I'm Lyran. I'm actually one of the guards of the order of Viridis--at least until Viridis succeeds. He's planning to unify us all, you know? I'm the only one he's told till he gets it all prepared, but it's coming. Man, it's gonna change the universe. It'll be like the Olyra days but democratic."

She failed at stifling a snort. Viridis, a unifier? A democrat? The idea was absurd. Viridis craved power, and bought it with pain, and with stolen souls. If what she'd seen in her brushes with Tacet had been any indication, the only unification for him was bringing the souls of those he saw as a threat together in his personal collection. When he looked at her, both baffled and miffed, she filled in. "I, ah, I knew his daughter, actually." She neglected to mention that his daughter had damn near killed both her and her girlfriend..ex-girlfriend, she amended. Balik wasn't hers.

His eyes widened. "Lady Tacet! oh, she's a delight, isn't she? So beautiful, and so level. She's working on earth, you know? Gathering the magic there to try to unify the order of Viridis with the Lost orders there, you know? She even has a celestus for a helper. Even the gods endorse the mission." Rina's grey eyes widened at the boy's fanatical lunacy. Balik was not Tacet's helper. The demigod was her slave, her toy, her stress ball, and her way of exerting her will unto someone who couldn't defend herself. Her lips pressed into a thin line, remembering how Balik was scarred, how she thought she'd owed Rina her body when Rina saved her. She remembered the pain in the girl's deep blue eyes like the sky when she'd realized she was in the bed, and that she was allowed in there for one thing only.

"Yeah," she said hollowly, mind still on Tacet's body, how scarred it had been when she'd stripped down, and looked at Rina like she expected fire, brimstone and all things hellish, because that's what Tacet would have done. And Rina remembered what it was like, months later, to feel the girl's cool form in her arms as they slept in the purest sense of the words, and she gave her back the right to be in the bed again. Her body remembered Balik's curves, her hair tickling Rina's nose, her wings encircling Rina, pressing her close. Finally, something snapped. This wasn't what she wanted. "Yeah. Lady Tacet, or whoever the hell she is in Viridis' starshit order, no God would ever endorse. If anything, they better smite her. She's the type to break literal hearts and laugh. And you're the type, obviously, to join whatever cult made your ass feel relevant."

That's what she wanted to say. Instead she just choked out, "Balik didn't want this," under her breath, knowing she couldn't fight him, especially now he was connected to Viridis, even superficially.

Ramir smiled patronizingly as the server took his order for the pair of them, bearing Rina no mind. She hated these backwards chauvinistic restaraunts where the man did all the talking. She was a force. She was an assassin. And soup à la soleil would probably be toxic to someone of a dark alliance. It might still be the the highlight of the night, she thought bitterly. "Balik? Who's that?" He sounded perplexed, "ah! Right! The celestus. Viridis was telling me. She was so arrogant, wanting to head up the charge, and he said he wouldn't have his revolution be so violent. So she joined Lady Tacet to try to do some good."

Balik? Rina wasn't sure if she'd laugh or vomit first, but made a sound befitting of a clogged garburator. "Balik? Balik is not arrogant." The poor girl hadn't thought herself worth anything, at the start. Maybe it was the magic pushing them together that made her believe Rina so quickly but so gradually. Had let her let Rina treat her like a person. "I'll have you know, Balik, when I knew her, was the kind of girl who'd sleep on the floor and think herself indebted because she was still in a house! Balik never wanted a fight. She just wanted to fly, Duskdammit! To be free."

He looked offended and shocked by her contradiction, so she shook her head. "I'm going to the bathroom." With no further ado, she stomped off, heels clicking behind her. Once in the bathroom, she leaned over the sink, smoothing out her white hair, which was growing out of the undercut a bit too rapidly. She straightened the tight black sheath of a dress that displayed her long lanky form and lack of curves. Something dizzying surged in her, flooding her with heat, dancing across her skin. No. No, she'd taken her Eskalith today. This couldn't be happening.

Reluctantly, she rifled for her phone in her small bag, texting her ex. "Hey. I'm trapped. Can you get me from a place called fusion on Amara?"

Balik responded quickly but reluctantly, and in a matter of minutes, Rina was through the window and flying back home in the arms of the demigod she'd turned from thing to person, the cold balancing out her fire perfectly. Balik was the one person who'd never choose to tie herself to a person or place, who thought Rina's life was too high-risk. The worst was that the girl said their love was all the prophesy's love spell. But here, in her arms for these brief moments, Rina felt acutely what she'd lost.

"Love spell, my ass."

So, in the hopes someone has a funnier and/or less dark spin on the prompt at hand...

Prompt: your character is on a date that's gone awry! What makes it so bad? Is it the location? The food? The other person? Do they wait it out or leave through the bathroom window?

 

im going to poke at this. I can definitely answer the prompt, just gotta give me a few

 

@DraconicMaiden?

 

Oh jeez, Lol I meant hours, but then all hell broke loose at my house. I'll sir down today ams work in it with a cup of tea!

 

@DraconicMaiden it's all good. I've literally just been refreshing it cause I love responding to this game! You have all the time you want

 

It was bad as soon as they stepped onto the planet's surface. Moist, fetid air greeted Elliote and Sadie, pushing into their lungs as they exited their ship. It wasn't poisonous, just gross. She sighed, and ran her fingers through her mousy brown hair, flicking it over her shoulders.

"Let's go Elliote, we aren't going to be able to get dinner just standing on the gangplank." She tugged at his arm, grinning up at him despite the heat and odor that surrounded them. The tall blond boy sighed and shook his head, trying to move his short hair from his eyes, but failing miserably. Within moments, he has sweat so much that everything was stuck to everywhere.

The couple made their way away from their spaceship's dock and Sadie led the way, asking occasionally where to get a good meal. The locals were friendly enough, however reserved. Steered in a direction, Elliote followed her blindly, literally. All he was acosted with was the horrible heat and the stench of the area that seemed to permeate his skin, even through his clothing.

"We're here!" She seemed triumphant, but the novelty wore off as she opened the door to the restaurant and saw the interior. Dimly lit tables and cramped quarters were the dining room du jour. Sadie sighed, but led them to a table after being waved at by a hostess to sit anywhere. Soon a waiter came with menus and Elliote pretended to ponder as Sadie read aloud. Her tone airy and light until she came to some of the more strange dishes.

The appetizers started benignly enough; cheese plate, vegetable dip with a sour dough bread, kebabs. Things got weird when the words "native fruit served with eye of tarquilf spread" were strung together. After describing several more of the area's...delicacies... the two had had enough. Sadie ordered for both of them, the least odd sounding meals, both giggling after the waiter stepped away.

PROMPT: YOUR CHARACTER HAS WON A TRIP, WHERE TO, HOW DID THEY WIN? ARE THEY GOING TO OVERSTUFF THEIR LUGGAGE?

 

@DraconicMaiden I'm so sorry to bother you, but you forgot to leave a prompt for the next person..

 

No worries! I fell asleep as I was finishing up. I actually feel like it ends too abruptly, so I might go add a bit more later Lol

 

((@DraconicMaiden its all good. I did the same thing to my poor RP partner last night. I just passed out mid reply, rolled only my phone and sent her half a coherent reply and then a bunch of gibberish.))

"Have you ever been on vacation?" Rina asked Balik, thinking perhaps the demigod was mistaken. She didn't want time away from everyone, she wanted time away from this location.

"I've been on a trip," she shrugged. "No trip with Tacet was ever a vacation." She didn't think Rina understood that at all, that trips didn't really help. What Balik needed was her freedom, and it wouldnt be found in another small, locked room, with a packed itinerary, and hours of confinement on the plane. She was almost offended Rina asked.

----

"And you're a winnerrrrr," came the relatively obnoxious voice into the phone, though Tacet, for once didn't mind in the slightest.

"Tell me," she purred, "what have I won, exactly?" She did so love to be served, even if it was by a human with an annoying voice, and no choice but to phone her.

"You, my good friend, have won yourself a sun-filled, fun-filled trip for two to an all-inclusive resort in Cancun!" She sounded excited. Tacet didn't know what exactly a canned coon was, but if it was sunny, she could see herself enjoying it alright.

"Now, let's confirm some details, shall we? The ticket that won is made out to a Christina Jones, would that be you?" So that was how she won, the last person to live here must have actually been the winner. It was a shame she was dead now, and tragically unable to attend, but Tacet was sure she'd be able to make up for it, particularly since Christina's passport, and her roommate's were still in one of the cupboards.

"That would be me," Tacet lied, "and for my companion... Tracey Walst," she read off the second passport, already mulling whether she's send back to Lyra for an escort, or just drag her captive celestus along for the ride. Balik would be more convenient, of course, because she didn't have to be taught what Tacet liked, but being taken on so luxurious a trip might undo some of the training.

She gave the woman all the pertinent details as she skipped about the penthouse, tossing clothing and weapons into a bag. Bathing suits were tossed haphazardly beside her spare sun-stone harnesses, and her dagger, and all of the other things she knew she'd need in an unfamiliar space. By the time she'd filled her bag. Damn.

She started a second bag for makeup and hair things and a couple more sunstones because you never knew when you'd need an explosive amount of power at your fingertips.

She felt a slight pang as she headed toward the closet to see what she'd pack for whoever she dragged along. The stone by her heart got hot, and she stroked it slowly. Leilah would have loved this trip, the sun, the room together, the incredible things they would do in the hot tub on the balcony. No. No she wasn't allowed to want that.

Maybe she would bring Balik then. Fine. She couldn't have what she wanted, then someone else had to pay for it.

When, fully glamoured, the pair of them arrived at the airport, Balik limping from some injury Tacet had forgotten, but she never could, three and a half bags between them, neither had known what to expect. Tacet hadn't known she'd love the sun and the sand and the fruity drinks she demanded the bartender keep putting in her hand every time she finished one. Balik had expected more of the same, after all, she was a hostage, and not a guest. But with the tethering spell holding her a minimum distance from Tacet, one night, she got the only thing she wanted. One night, on the balcony, she finally got to see the stars.

----

"I hear, up north, there are places where the sky alights at night, and it is dark almost all day," Rina explained herself. "Relatively secluded places we could fly to ourselves, if we took some longer breaks to be merciful to my wings."

Perhaps Balik would go, if only so that again, she could almost be one with the stars.

Prompt: your character has just gotten everything they wanted, but there's one catch. What is this catch, and does it ruin things for them?

 

Prompt: Your doll's character has a fateful encounter in a place they often frequent; however, the encounter is not with a human! Who is it with and why does it cause them to go to a place they have never been before?

 

(I'll try this since I just wrote in another thread that I avoid writing fiction, so I'm not sure if it's any good, please bear with me. ^^)

"Prompt: Your doll's character has a fateful encounter in a place they often frequent; however, the encounter is not with a human! Who is it with and why does it cause them to go to a place they have never been before?"

She put down the basket and let out a sigh as she fell to her knees. Every night the same routine. Gather the offerings the humans had left, carry it down, down the winding stairs, deep into the earth. Present it to the Eldest. Get same old empty words of praise, then walk all the way up again only to fight over morsels with her sister.
Then expected to look and perform their best in dance and processions, not letting a single emotion show, just smile. No wonder Sadie got out as soon as she could.
They had always been different, the two of them. Not really getting along, but never quite able to relate to anyone else either.
Saga missed Sadie, but couldn't blame her for leaving. She just wished that the years would pass swiftly until she herself reached the age when she could get out of this rathole. But the years never pass swiftly in a fairy mound...

As she began to put the assortment of food items and shinies in the basket, something moved in the shadows. She turned her head but couldn't make out anything. Her catlike vision normally never let her doubt anything, but this was different. Her shoulders tensed and she slowly rised to a slight crouch, ready to bolt. She turned slowly, her whole body tuned to every nuance of the surroundings.
"Please sit, child."
The gentle voice hit her like a ton of rocks and she jumped. It was so much closer than she had expected, and still she saw nothing. She stared deep into the darkness, but the crisp night air was clear as day to her eyes.
"Now, now, don't fret. I'll do you no harm, little one."
The voice sounded almost amused. "Now please, sit."
Saga was trembling, her eyes frozen in the direction of the voice.
She felt a slowly growing hint of warmth in the same direction. There actually was someone there, and they got closer to her. It felt oddly comforting. Still tense, she cautiously sat down cross-legged.
As if the air thickened, a figure began to form in front of Saga's eyes, seemingly out of the density of the air itself. It was shorter than her, but rounder. A wide face took shape, long hair like spiderweb floating in the stillness. Eyes like black pearls, deep as a tarn, defined by the fine wrinkles of a heartful smile.
It was a lady, shriveled like an old apple. Saga had never seen such wrinkles aside from on very old humans. The lady was Vittrafolk like herself, but...looking old! The Eldest themselves didn't look old, not like this!
The lady chuckeled at Saga's perplexion and sat down across from her. She sat in silence for a while, holding calm eyecontact and smiling. Saga felt, much to her own surprise, how her muscles began to relax, like melting snow under the April sun, her mind calm and curious. She felt safe.

The lady spoke.
"Thank you for finally meeting with me, dear Saganatt."
Saga frowned but needn't say it -
"I have been waiting for you, Saganatt. You cannot meet with me lest you will allow it, lest you are ready. And it seems like you are."
"How do you know me?", Saga asked in a low voice, as if afraid to break the atmosphere.
"How do you know yourself?", retorted the lady. "I've been there from the very beginning."
"You were there when I was born?"
Saga was puzzled. She didn't know of any relatives other than her parents, her grandparents and her great grandparents, and they were all living in the mound and not...old!
The lady chuckled and grinned so her eyes was just glints of diamond among the wrinkles.
"I was here when THE WORLD was born, dear child."
"Oh."
"But now let's not get hung up on technicalities, dear, let's get to the point."
Saga felt weak as the words sank in. She tried a polite smile.
"I have had the pleasure of getting acquainted with your sister Sarae, and she mentioned some worries over you. That you did not fare well in your court. I believe that you, like her, are of a restless mind and a wit amazing and outstanding your peers by far. I believe that you cannot lead a happy life among those, and I do not intend you to suffer, my child."
She began to turn blurry as tears welled up in Saga's eyes. Saga had always felt so different. Alone in crowded halls, alone in ways of reasoning and alone in perception of the world. Her family was kind and loving to her and Sadie and spoiled then the best way they could though not owning much, but they never really understood her. Often had she thought about the stories the humans told of Other Folk - she felt like a changeling. Were it not for her mother's golden eyes and her father's smile, she could have been, she was sure of it.

"Your happiness lies not in the dark. Follow the night lights north, to where the meadow wed the forest and you'll be welcome there."
Saga blinked, but the old lady's shape was still blurry, like seen through milk. Saga shaked her head. The lady got more and more washed out, as if her very being was diluted with night.
Saga stuttered. "B-but...what does it mean?"
The old lady smiled and shrugged her more and more translucent shoulders. "I don't know. It just felt right."
As the lady faded away, Saga began to panic. "W-wait! What do you want me to do? Who are you?"
As the last spiderweb strand made way for the blue night and the sparkles of her eyes were stars on the sky, the lady's voice echoed behind, "Farewell, Saganatt."

Prompt: Your doll's character have ordered a pet from GTA3's petsovernight.com, but when they open up the crate it is NOT what they ordered AND it means trouble. How do they solve the situation, and what is the pet?

 

@Tindomiel can you please leave a prompt for the next person?

 

Holy crap sorry I forgot, I'll edit it in right away!

 

Red had wanted something cute and needy to keep her company when her--not hers, God she needed to remember that--when Mort was icing her out. Besides the small dog she'd settled on was cute and fluffy and everything girls Would Go for when shebwas tryingnto pick them up.

She'd ordered a small dog--a papillon, ironically, considering she herself had butterfly wings. She liked the irony. And it was cute, and yappy. It would keep her company.

She was not prepared to open the crate to frickin Godzilla junior. She should have known when the crate was too big, that it was someone else's order. The thing was black and white and scaly, roughly the size of the dog she wanted, but with a big thick muscular tail. The thing was like a whip when she tried to pick it up, thrashing and flailing, the razored claws ripping at her wrists when she tried to heft it by its whip tail.

Red shrieked in pain, dropping it to the ground, and watching the menacing dragon stomp across the room, flicking its long pink tongue mockingly as it settled in on the shelf under the coffee table. She checked the side of the box groaning in dismay, "argentine tegu. Handle with care," she read, laughing bitterly. Godzilla hadn't handled her with care, now had it?

So she did what any sensible person would do, she got online, got on her computer and write an angry email to customer support, before making a phone call she was sure was answered in India and not anywhere close enough to remove the little blighter. They all told her the same line, all sales were final. She was going to have to make it work.

Red sighed, resigning herself to having to avoid the coffee table for the next... twenty years of the scourge's lifespan. Knowing her luck it would live to one hundred and blep at her menacingly for the next century of her afterlife.

She hoped it choked on an egg, rat or glop of ground turkey before that.

It wasn't long before Mort manifested, dressed just as dubiously as ever. There was only one thing she wanted from Red, and she would leave once she had it. Red didn't get why she still gave it to her. No, she did. It was because she was a lovelorn idiot, and not one with small kaiju in her coffee table.

The french girl glided across the floor inbher short skirt and tall heels until the creature surged forward, as though her stiletto were an interesting food source. Mort jumped , before dropping to her knees and making a little face at the monster, before stroking the giant flap of skin under its chin "and who might you be?" She asked, in the cutsiest voice Red had ever heard her make.

Red paused, trying to come up with a fitting name. "Uh... it's name is... ummm.... Lizzy the angry lizard." She hoped that's as a normal name for an angry tail-whipping beast.

Mort looked up at her, completely enthralled with the monster. "But he's a boy, aren't you Liz-lord?" She asked the beast making kissy noises.

Sure. She loved him and not Red. Of course she'd like a cold blooded blighter with a tail like a bullwhip. It was just like her to only love the completely undeserving. "Your brother's a boy and he got a girlier name than you did," she argued. Mind you, her brother was more effeminate than she was.

Mort shrugged, making kissy noises at the newly christened Liz-lord. Red Just paused, wondering if she could justify getting rid of the thing when it was the only thing that had ever had Mort behaving like a person and not a 2D object in her presence.

She supposed Godzilla won the coffee table.

Prompt: your character's significant other has a secret, and now they know...

 

Yuna was reading quietly in her living room, casually floating upside down on the ceiling. She was a ghost, after all. her partner, Kai, was out this evening on the hunt for his meals. Him being a vampire, he needed human blood of course. Finishing her book, she floated down to the floor and went to put the book back in the bookshelf. There, she saw an unfamiliar book, black leather with silver lettering. Curious, she opened it. She gasped. It was Kai's diary. She knew better then to read it, and was about to put it back when something caught her eye. She read hungrily, her heart beginning to thump, face going blood red, and tears dripping down. "Diary, I don't know what to do. The worst thing has happened to me today, and sweet Yuna must never know or she would surely leave me. Today I was out on the hunt, like normal, and I found a young man, he was handsome and seemed like he would be a sweet one. I came up to him and apologized for what I was about to do. He looked confused, then saw my fangs and screamed out "Please no, I am young and in love, do not ruin my life now!" Curious, I stopped and asked who he was in love with. He said, "A ghost girl named Yuna. We meet sometimes in secret, she has a boyfriend who I have never met, and we are just friends, but I plan on proposing to her tonight anyway." In a rage, I tore him apart. I regret now what I have done, as Yuna has been crying for days now. Her friend has vanished she said, though she will not say more. She does not know I know about her meetings with a man. She is innocent, she thought they were only friends, but the man had to go. Yuna, I am sorry." Yuna was about to put up the book when none other then Kai walked in, a large smile on his face. "Yuna, I'm home! I brought back a gift I found at the night market and-" He saw her tear streaked face, and the diary. His smile crashed and burned. "Oh...Yuna, I am so sorry, I did not...I mean...I was going to...ugh. I'll...I'll go pack your bags for you." He started to walk upstairs, but Yuna grabbed his arm. "I did not say I was leaving, idiot. I am merely shocked, is all. Why did you not tell me? do you trust me so little?" Kai looked shocked as well now. "I...I thought for sure if you knew I had murdered your best friend, you would leave me. I could not bring myself to tell you." Yuna kissed him. "Silly, I love you still. I kept my meeting a secret because I knew you are the jealous type. I am angry you killed my friend, but I did not know he loved me that much. It is most likely for the best. I am dead, he was alive. It could not have lasted." Kai hugged his girl. "All you need is me. I am immortal, you will always have me." Yuna whispered, "I know." But...she still wished she could have a friend.....

PROMPT: Your BJD's best friend dies. How, why, and what does your BJD do?

 

He was the world to her, was everything. She leaned in, burying her face in his neck, imagining he was warm, feeling her shirt growing wet as she lay atop him. Red blood stained her white tank top and skin ways she didn't think would ever come out, and she wished it could have been black blood, her own blood instead.

This was never about Ray, her lover, her best friend, her world. This was about Neva and her, was about their ancient grudge. This wasn't supposed to involve him. She knew it did, however. She'd always known she'd be the Death of him.

Rina met Ray on earth, when she'd first arrived, and he'd taken her in. She had nothing, and in fact he'd been sure she had some kind of drug problem, because she introduced herself as Adrena of the house of Fierene and demanded to know who the first of his name was. He had no idea what she meant. Especially when she insisted on meeting them, to try to get a rip established and speak to Otura.

Yeah, none of that made any sense tonhim, nor did she, notnfornweeks until they got to know each other. But he called her a star, said he wanted her back in the sky. She had the fire, and he'd give her a boost back up, even if it burned his fingertips, he said.

This was more than fingertips.

She took a deep breath, clutching onto his wrists, as if she could stifle the blood that seeped from them, long after his heart had stopped and he'd grown cold. She wouldn't forget. She wouldn't let go of who he'd made her.

And, weeks later when the body was reanimated with something sinister inside, well, she still wouldn't give up then.

Prompt: your bjd has an unconventional way of celebrating one holiday/occasion... which one is it, and what do they do?

 

"It's... our birthday?"

Karalyn's calendar was thoroughly marked up with everything from past due dates to general memoir-style notes on a day-to-day basis, but on the day Jun had finally come around to reading her sister's inscrutable note-taking, she found only one entry, circled three times in three different colors of pen. Birthday!!! Alongside it was a tiny doodle of a cake.

It had been so long since Jun had last celebrated a birthday, she had all but forgotten the day entirely. If she were being honest, she hadn't thought she'd ever be able to celebrate again. Not since the accident. She hid her mouth behind one hand and chuckled. 'Not since the accident.' It sounded so dire it was cliche, and she couldn't help but laugh, making a mental note to use the phrase next time she was asked a question. Literally any question.

How have you been?

Not great.

Oh?

Not since the accident.

Her laughter was silent, but she was laughing hard enough that she had to set down the calendar, her shoulders shaking and her lashes wet with mirthful tears. It really must have been her birthday, she hadn't laughed like this since she was a child. That said, Jun's sense of humor was... unique, to say the least.

Once she had taken the time to breathe and compose herself, she turned her attention back to the date. "Our birthday, hm...?" How did one celebrate a birthday? She had ideas of a cake, of a pile of brightly wrapped boxes, of a group of friends gathered around a table and singing in unison. Friends. Of course. Did she have any of those anymore? She supposed Vice tolerated her peeking in on Karalyn's "secret meetings", which was about as friendly as Vice got with anyone. So Vice was a maybe. Sky flat-out hated her, and really, she couldn't blame him. There was one person she was sure would celebrate her birthday with her, and that was Arya, who Jun hadn't seen... since the accident. This prompted another chuckle.

Well, it looked like she was alone this year. She glanced up and locked eyes with her reflection.

"Happy birthday to me... Happy birthday... To me..."

~*~

Prompt: What's your BJD's preferred winter holiday? Christmas? Hanukkah? Winter Solstice? Candlenights? How do they celebrate, and who do they do it with?

 

Well, this was supposed to be a short entry, but it might have gotten away from me... Hopefully this fits into only two posts!

The snowfall made his heart ache. Each delicate flake brushing up against his window pane dug deeper a furrow of melancholy that rattled his bones and fought to escape his lungs with a desperate sigh. His home, his Pawn Shop was rife with the sensation, warm-coloured spruce walls groaning with the weight of the snow and the frozen wind. The acrid tang of coal burning in his fireplace kept him more aware than the cold cup of tea that sat upon the counter next to his flattened palm.


It was the Winter Solstice, and he was still awake. Still alive, still alone, still polishing his trinkets and setting up his treasures and longing for the days when sleep would have offered him a calm respite from the world by now. He used to like this time of year.


But this was nothing like the Solstice nights from the old continent.


He creaked to his feet from his chair by the register -a masterfully gilded piece of art which had been in need of polishing again- and crossed to the large display window that took up the entirety of his wall facing into the street.


The long tails of his coat slapped lightly at his heels until he came to a stop, hugging the worn fabric closer about his frame. It was his only friend tonight, the threadbare fabric providing more warmth than any fire-fueled stove. It was certainly warmer than the view he knew would meet him through the window. Slowly, he folded his fingers into the creases of his sleeves, and steeled himself to look out the wide glass framed cold and elegant within his wall.


A dreary night stared back at him, the streetlights all dark and the shop lights hidden away behind curtains and drapery as his neighbors fought to ignore the change in seasons.


One hundred years and an ocean away, this night would have been filled with candlelight and revelry. The streets would have packed with families, bundled tight and huddled together, awed gazes directed skyward in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the elusive Spirit of Winter. The snow would be falling gently, each snowflake crafted with special care from the ice made from the first Spring’s rain that washed the previous years’ work away. The only sound would be the soft puff of an exhaled breath that sent a misty cloud into the air as thanks was given for the coming of the season. Solstice night was always the year’s first snowfall.


Amadé loved the snow. It blanketed the trees and the land to carry them into the lull of winter’s dreams, far beyond the frozen realm that greeted him each morning in the world of man and his forward ‘progress’.


A crunch, sharp against the low blustering of the wind, jolted him from the spiral he had begun to drift down. The sound came again and Amadé stepped lightly to the shadow of his window. He peered into the snowfall and noticed, for the first time, another light cast into the street alongside his own. The young hatter who owned the shop next to his was not only still awake, he was on his way to the small brass knocker that resided on Amadé’s front door.


The thought of another soul intruding upon his melancholy filled his stomach with an icy churning, freezing him to the core. For a terrifying moment, his arms hung slack and his feet stood rooted to the floor, his breath trapped in his lungs until the entirety of the thought registered. He wouldn’t be alone.


That small candle of warmth tried to slip its way into his chest; it wasn’t enough to melt the wall around his heart, but it soothed the worry in his stomach so that his limbs were free to move again.


And move he did, making short time of the space between himself and the entrance to his shop. The first light tap at his door was interrupted mid-swing as Amadé pulled the heavy wood inwards, yanking the knocker from chilled fingertips and causing it to clang to a noisy stop next to his ear.


“Oh,” a crooked smile met him from below pale yellow eyes and a drooping brim, “Solstice greetings and a prosperous journey to you, Mr. Grigoriose.”

​

Part 2 in next post

 

Part 1 in previous post

Heavy wool draped the young man’s frame, trembling fingers withdrawn into deep pockets adding to the bulk which stood firmly against the wind. His golden eyes were tired, smile filled with the trepidation of something Amadé had been on the verge of discovering for himself only a few moments prior.


But the greeting, it was that greeting which struck the ice from Amadé’s chest and convinced him to withdraw from his threshold, extending an arm to welcome his guest inside, “Solstice greetings and a prosperous journey to you as well, Mr. Taibbes.”


“Apologies if I’ve disturbed your night,” he began, lifting the hem of his long jacket and shuffling into the warmth of the shop, “I saw the light and thought maybe someone else might be longing for company this evening.”

Amadé latched the door with a gentle click and braced a hand against the wood, “Not at all, I was just about to start another kettle of tea if you’d like.”


“Tea would be wonderful,” he smiled, relaxing his shoulders and sitting on the edge of the display window, taking the moment to remove his hat as well. His father’s features- his grandfather’s features- starkly present in every curve of his face.


“Does it matter which kind?” Amadé asked, calmly collecting his cup from the counter as he moved to the stove and the half-filled kettle hanging next to it, “I’m afraid the options are limited to mint and chamomile.”


The hatter paused in retrieving his arms from his coat, burrowing into the thick wool as if it were a blanket instead, “I would prefer the chamomile, if that’s alright with you.”

The chamomile was already out on the counter, a small cloth sack tipped recklessly on its side. Amadé swung the kettle over the stove and pulled another cup from the cupboard before he returned to the tea. Sweeping the bag into his hand with care, he cradled it in his palm, wondering at the feeling of something so small holding so much meaning. He weighed his words against that feeling and opened his mouth to ask, “Mr. Taibbes-“


“Calvin,” came the interruption from the window, “If you please.”


Amadé paused, digesting the request before he continued, “Calvin. How did you learn about the Solstice greeting? It hasn’t been used around this area for nearly a century.”


A small smile tucked into the collar of his jacket was Calvin’s reply. He pointedly ignored the question and instead studied Amadé’s form closely, golden eyes following the seams and folds of the fragile coat that was worn with obvious care.


“You know, I make jackets as well as hats,” he said, meeting Amadé’s eyes with a sudden intensity, “I could make you a nice winter coat, if you like.”


The offer almost leant the tea bag enough weight to slip through surprised fingers, and Amadé fumbled for the right response, “No, uh, there’s no need for that.”


He paused, rubbing a piece of his faded sleeve between his fingers, “I mean, this jacket was a gift from a very dear friend.”


“Oh,” Calvin’s smile deepened, “It looks very well taken care of, how long ago did you receive it?”


“A very, very long time ago,” Amadé sighed under his breath and turned back to the stove, “A lifetime, even.”


Calvin hummed quietly, “Is that so?”


The quality of his phrase was odd enough it compelled Amadé to look over his shoulder, “Is what so?”


A grin, fierce and uncertain, had overtaken Calvin’s face, drawing him to his feet and letting the heavy jacket fall to the floor.


“It’s just, I’ve figured it out – this situation that Lavaiou has crafted for us,” he said, every note straining, “Because I remember gifting you that jacket, a very, very long time ago, Amadeus.”


The kettle whistled that it was ready just as the tea bag hit the ground.


“Oh.”


Prompt: Your BJD has a song stuck in their head; what song is it, what is their reaction to it, how long do they end up with it stuck in their head?​

 

I hope it's ok if I revive this thread! Such a cool theme!

Holy girl/Don't get up/For running
Chelle squeezed her eyes shut against the grey light of early morning. She wanted to go back to sleep, to pretend she didn't hear the quiet rustle.
Stay with me /I feel sad/When you run
Aerie didn't think she knew. But Chelle knew. She'd always known, every time Aerie ran. Even though she always came back.
Sands of time/Are lying/On my chest
It wasn't that Chelle blamed her for running. She knew better than anyone how bad things got in the group home. The loneliness, the routine, the insanely strict rules. It was like prison.
Stay in bed/I feel sad/When you run
What she couldn't understand was why Aerie didn't take her with her.
The door closed after her and Chelle was left in the cold room with the pulsing electronic beat of the song pounding in her head like a heartbeat.
(Song: "Run" by Air)

Prompt: your bjd (or rather a character shelled in a bjd) finds something that would solve at least one huge problem they have for sale in a store full of magical artifacts, but it's much more expensive than they can afford. What is the object? What would it solve? What would your character do to procure said object?
(Edited to fix auto-correct)

 

It didn’t look like much, but then again, neither did she. The shop was something small, squished into an alleyway, more of a travelling vendor’s stand. At first it caught her attention because of a particular piece of jewelry she noticed, wrought of some kind of black metal, with stones that looked like they were full of blue lightning flickering out at her.

She kept her hood low, reaching for it, before the store owner turned away from the elf she was talking to, another Shadar Kai, though this one had white hair that faded to light purple, and looked like some kind of entertainer, by the flute she was holding. “One moment,” the owner spoke, violet eyes turning black as she faced Vidania. “Do be careful with that one, dear. That much thunder magic would be dangerous to you.” As she turned away, she red hair lengthened, turned coppery towards the ends.

A changeling, Vidania wondered. She turned back to the other Shadar Kai, responding. “As easy as I’m sure it would make things, I don’t have anything to protect you from a son of Asmodeus, least of all of he’s got Fierna’s ability.” Vidania cringed a little. Fierna’s descendants got mind control abilities. The other Shadar Kai must be desperate to try to fight something like that.

“I don’t need full protection,” the other begged, “just something to keep him out of my head, that’s all I ask.” She looked on the verge of tears, and Vidania couldn’t help but feel for her. Spells that killed from the inside were by far the worst.

The shopkeeper smiled ruefully, her skin turning a ligh blue, “Zilvriia,” she mused, “no lock can protect you if you leave the doors open. I’ve told you this.”

While she spoke, Vidania was already looking down at what looked to be a pair of vambraces. These were leather, the surfaces carved in ornate patterns, runes then Painstakingly branded into each section. Vidania, from her studies, knew enough to recognize some of these runes from some of the healing spells she’d cast. They had some hind of healing spell to them. Again, as she reached for them, the shopkeeper turned away from Zilvriia, though now she had silvered scars in almost the same places as Aelish on her face. “Those take so long to make. Seems there’s many a fighter that doesn’t get proper healing and fucks themselves up. Had to make a whole set of armour for a guy last year, because there wasn’t a single part of his body that didn’t hurt any time he even tried to lift a weapon. It’s a shame, really, how humans heal naturally. You can just tell they weren’t built to withstand combat for too long...”

Vidania’s heart leapt. “So these... these would help with pain? In particular pain in the wrists, that kind of thing?” She tried, already thinking these would be better than an engagement ring for her lover.

The shopkeeper nodded, “takes me weeks to get all the runes in like that. Not to mention, learning healing spells to deal with chronic pain is miles away from any other healing I’ve ever learned. That man who got the full set was a king, and he paid dearly for it. I suppose, I could let these go for... I think for 100 gold.”

Vidania has exactly sixty-eight to her name, and 32 was a lot of gold to try to acquire, besides, who knew where the seller would be by the time she had the money. “I have 68... is there anything else I could give you? I really need these.”

The seller shook her head. “I don’t take credit, and I certainly don’t take pleas. You want them, they’re 100 gold. I can do ninety five if you give me something from the shadowfell. I’ve always found it interesting.” Vidania's response was instantaneous, whipping out a ring, with one dull violet stone in it. “Shadowfell crafted. It’s my spare spell casting focus, on case my current one disappears.”

The merchant appraised it, turning it over. “I’ll do this, and ninety, just because it’s well-made,” she decided, after a moment of deliberation.

The other Shadar Kai turned to look at her, as though she was only just realizing there was another person at the booth. She had one long scar down the side of her face, faded and silvered. “Are you an adventurer?” She asked, her accent almost unplaceable to Vidania, probably from northern Apia, maybe?

“I’m a healer and a necromancer,” Vidania replied, with the same easy confidence she’d always had. Her domain of magic was dangerous, necromancy both uncommon and not popular among most other magic folk.

The other Shadar Kai bit her lip, scraping off a bit of her own purple lipstick, “Yeah? How are you at revenge?”

It was an Echo to who Vidania was before Aelish. Revenge alone sustained her for seven years. Revenge against him nearly killed her last summer. “I hear you need a cambion dead. There’s nothing I can’t kill with a little planning.”

Zilvriia, the other Shadar Kai, set five platinum on the counter, motioning to vidania to pay the remaining forty gold, which she handed the merchant without hesitation, as the merchant packaged up the vambraces. “Right. I’ll keep these for now. I’ll give you them, and another eight platinum if you kill him.”

Vidania didn’t care what the reason was. She didn’t care how strong he was. She needed these for Aelish, and if it took one dead cambion to do it... well, that could be arranged.

Prompt: your doll loses something irreplaceable. How did they lose it, and what will they do to find it again?

 

Her wedding day had been the most special day of Parry’s life. She hadn’t the time or money for an expensive gown, so wore a lovely dress she usually saved for parties, the same colour blue as her hair. Her least muddy pair of sensible flats. And a beautiful, simple, golden tiara. Easily the most exquisite item she owned, and she cherished it dearly. When the ceremony was over, she wrapped it carefully in a scarf, and gave it a home in the drawer of her nightstand, for it was far too precious to wear every day. A time capsule of her love and happiness; a little reminder whenever she felt upset that she was loved, and happy. That she had a town that cared for her, and a husband that loved her.

Her Husband. Her sweet, naïve husband. He was trying to start a band from his bedroom in his parent’s house, and couldn’t even cook for himself. She thought that was adorable. She thought she could teach him how to make fresh dough so he could make his own pizza, rather than buying cheap, frozen ones. She even grew tomatoes for the sauce!
But months passed, not that she was counting, and… he just wouldn’t make an effort. More often than not she would come home from a hard day tending the garden and the chickens, running errands, helping Nanna, only to be greeted with “Oh, hey honey. Sorry, I only ordered takeout for myself since I didn’t know how long you were going to be.”
Never ‘Hi honey, I ordered your favourite, I put it in the oven to keep it warm.’ and certainly not ‘I paid attention to the cooking lessons you gave me and made us some fresh pasta using vegetables from the garden!’
God forbid he ever greeted her with ‘How was your day?’

Where had that fun and excitement gone? Where was the optimism, the daily joy of waking up with the person she loved most? She kicks her boots to the tiled floor of the kitchen before walking past him to the bedroom. Without pausing to wipe the muck from her fingers, she tugs open the drawer and lifts the bundled scarf from the back corner, pinching and pulling until the tiara glimmers in the low light.
It’s… different. She turns it one way, then the other, looking for a missing gem or a bent wire but finds no flaw. She sighs as her shoulders deflate, the corners of her mouth drooping in synchronised disappointment. It’s lost… something. And she knows exactly what.


They had married in autumn, over a year ago. Spring was around the corner now, and a less polite version of herself reasoned that spring was a good time of year to get rid of unwanted things. He refused to speak to her, begrudgingly moving his things back to his parent’s house before the divorce was down on paper. Dark, empty corners littered Parry’s house where her husband had been, and it felt like they were pulling her in. Sapping her energy. Whispering in the middle of the night, ’Look at what you lost’.

After an eternity, the days stretched out the sunset. Beams of light hit the empty spaces inside the house, and kindled the heat and warmth that was fading away. Ambitious sprouts and leaves were making their way to the sunlight, and Parry was standing defiant on her porch. A season’s worth of potential, just waiting for her to uncover it! Beds to rake and sow, chickens to cuddle, trees to prune!
She wore her lovely dress, the same blue as her hair. Her least muddy pair of sturdy boots.
And a beautiful, simple, golden tiara.
There would be happiness in her life again, and she was going to grow it herself.
-~-


PROMPT: What would happen if your doll took up doll collecting?

 

A paint brush sat stuck behind one ear, a shock of short blonde hair falling forward as she leaned closer to her project. Music played in the background, a steady beat, pulsing to the same rhythm as her heartbeat. The room was littered with fabric and partially cut pattern pieces; the desk was piled with art supplies- pastels, brushes, watercolor paints, a mug of coffee and a mug of water that she had already mixed up, twice. Zoe focused on the small face in her hands, adding the final touches to the makeup. This one was her own character from the Dungeons and Dragons game she played in with her girlfriend Sen.

She placed the faceplate onto the cake stand she used as a drying platform and sat back in the chair, letting out a big breath and relaxed her posture. Zoe had been hunched over for quite some time now and her back complained a bit at the fluid movement. Reaching for her coffee, she almost erred again and grabbed the paint water accidentally, before correcting herself and laughing at her own folly. Taking a quick sip of coffee, she spun to face the sewing machine and started to tackle the outfit pieces that were strewn about.

The front door open and a spunky, lime-haired slip of a girl breezed in. Sen tossed her work bag onto a hook and kicked her off, slipping into house slippers. She could hear the familiar chug of Zoe's sewing machine and she smiled. Her girlfriend was obsessed with these dolls. She found it cute that Zoe wanted to create their game characters and then all the other characters she had dreamed up. Their apartment was littered with dolls in various stages of "finished". Sen poked her head into the studio room and watched her tiny girlfriend wrestle with a large piece of fabric, navigating it into a manageable piece, and could't help but to laugh at the actions.

"Which one are we working on today?" Sen chirped as Zoe lowered the fabric from in front of her face, a look of disgruntlement on features. Her big eyes flashed with amusement though, and she quickly grinned, excited to show off her progress.

Prompt: Your character discovers a gate in a high garden wall, that's slightly ajar that they've never noticed before. What happens?

 

Well now. That certainly hadn't been there before.

The days were rare that Karalyn's father let her out into the Citadel gardens unsupervised. Not that he discouraged her to spend her time outdoors; on the contrary, he had always supported her budding interest in horticulture, and had even gifted her with her very own rose bush to tend on one of her younger birthdays. Over the years, though, the man had grown more and more paranoid about what may lurk outside the walls of the Citadel. Was it the influence of the other Cardinals? Was it a natural, overbearing care for his only daughter? Karalyn didn't know, and she didn't really seek to question. All she knew was she was almost constantly accompanied by one servant or another anymore, only ever finding herself alone when she was up in her own chambers. Fortunately (or unfortunately for whoever's care she was placed in) she knew her way around the gardens like the back of her hand, and it usually wasn't too hard to give her servants the slip.

Today, though, she hadn't had to escape anyone. With enough coercion (embarrassing begging, pleading, and bargaining) her father had caved and let her out on her own. She hoped he'd had a change of heart, but chances were this was her only day she would have to herself for quite some time.

It was also the only day she had seen something in the garden she hadn't known was there.

The walls of the Citadel gardens were overgrown by greenery; all manners of vines and ivy obscured thick layers of nigh impenetrable stone. There wasn't supposed to be a way through to the outside beside the heavily guarded main gate, but... Surely the gate she saw in front of her, constructed of graceful gilded bars and left slightly ajar, swinging in the breeze, hadn't been there yesterday. And knowing that led her to her next thought: maybe it wouldn't be there tomorrow either. This could be her one chance to break through.

The prodigal daughter's teal eyes glanced left, right, and left again, hardly daring to believe she was really alone. Once she had convinced herself that no one would stop her, she hardly allowed herself a second thought as she grasped one of the gilded bars of the mysterious gate and swung it wide open.

~*~

The next thing Karalyn knew, the sun was setting over the barely blooming roses. She lay on her back in the dirt, dress slightly askew, staring blankly up at the sky. The gate had vanished just as suddenly as it had appeared, and the smooth, unblemished wall stretched out seemingly to infinity in either direction.

Try as she might, she couldn't remember where she had been, what she had done. The gate had opened, and... And what? It was almost as if there was a wall in her mind to mimic the wall towering above her, one that wouldn't let her access what she had seen. Try as she might, she could only summon up one single word that stuck with her, one that made no sense to her devoid of context, but that she clung to as tightly as she could.

Sanctuary.

~*~

PROMPT: Your character celebrates a winter holiday. What does the day look like from their perspective? Who do they spend it with? Is it a pleasant or unpleasant time?

 

Being able to just enjoy herself and be lazy on Christmas was a total novelty for Minerva, after a decade of living across the country from family. It had always been spent rushing from one get together to another, trying to see all her relatives for what might be the only chance that year.


This year it was not the case now that she had moved back to her home state where visits with relatives could happen as frequently as she liked. Between Thanksgiving and the holiday parties leading up to Christmas, she’d gotten all of that out of the way.


Today was for her, well, for her and Hector her… whatever he was. Hector was a bartender turned friend from her days in grad school, a time that seemed like a century ago, even if it had only been four years prior. They’d kept in touch via facebook and text when she’d moved across the country again for her first real ‘grown-up’ job. She had depended on those texts and late night conversations as she tried to survive what had been the most difficult couple years of her life.


When she’d moved back to Michigan for another, much better position, she was presented with her chance to repay for all the times he’d been there for her. After a bad break-up, he’d decided to try to get his life together and went looking for a doctoral program. The one he’d found was within an hour’s drive of her so after his housing fell through, she’d offered her home to him if he needed to crash leading up to the school year. Somehow those few weeks turned into him renting her guest room. He’d said he didn’t mind the commute.


Which lead her to now, smiling at the sight of Hector doing a spicy shimmy to the music he had playing on his phone as he flipped a pancake. She cleared her throat to let him know she was in the room before speaking. “Merry Christmas.”


He gave her a glace and a crooked grin. “Mornin’, Min. You down for some pancakes?”


“Heck, yeh.” she replied, heading over to the coffee maker to get it going. “So, I’m thinking the plan for the day is that I’m going to watch every bad Christmas movie I can find on Netflix. You’re welcome to join, if you’re of the mind.”


“Oh, boy.” he chuckles. “How could I turn that down?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Your doll's character has the day off. How do they spend it?

 

Lunar forced his eyes open against the harsh afternoon light pouring in from the unimpressive window above his rickety bed. A more impressive hangover had his head pounding, and he cursed himself for never saving enough money to at least purchase curtains for moments such as this one. Regardless, he knew he wasn't going back to sleep feeling this way.

Unhurried, he sat up, giving himself a few moments to let the fogginess of sleep dissipate. Unthinking, he reached for a cigarette laying on his nightstand, his usual bandaid for the hangover hurt. Unhappily, he realized he'd smoked the last of them the night prior.

He let out a small, frustrated laugh as he finally pulled his sheets aside and stepped out of bed. He stomped towards his closet and yanked the door open, only to be reminded that he hadn't done his laundry in at least two weeks. He let his head hang defeatedly for a moment, then grabbed the shirt and pair of pants that sat atop his pile of dirty clothes. He adorned them and cringed at the slight smell of body odor that still clung to them. He promised himself he'd do his laundry tonight, and then dowsed himself with a generous amount of cologne.

He exited his apartment unit and walked down the hallway of the complex, ignoring the stained carpets beneath and the flickering lights overhead. He disinterestedly stepped over a junkie who'd passed out in the middle of the entryway, and pushed open the door leading out to the city streets. He sighed in relief as the stale air of the apartments was replaced by the chilled breeze only found in the moments between winter and spring. Even his hangover seemed to relax for a moment.

Adopting a brisk pace, he made his way towards the nearest convenience store for his bandaids. However, he was stopped in his tracks when his gaze fell over the pharmacy in which he knew had his medicine. He stepped up to Beau's Bar & Grill, one of his all-time favorite spots to play a gig (since the owner tended to be very generous in offering discounted drinks to Lune and his crew.) He peaked through the tinted glass to see the outline of a tall male figure shuffling around the bar. He gave the door a light push to see if it was unlocked, and sure enough, Lunar stepped inside to greet a surprised Beau.

"You know perfectly well that we don't open for another two hours," Beau said, though the scolding was empty as he wore a knowing grin. "Pull down one of the bar stools and take a seat. I've actually got a new import that I'd like for you to try. I think you're gonna like this." Beau bounded to the back of the bar and out of sight, leaving Lunar to sit at the bar alone and contemplate his life choices. He glanced at the clock. It was just shy of two in the afternoon.

He could get up and walk out of there right now. Grab his cigarettes, go home, do his laundry, clean himself up. He could write songs and message his bandmates to set up a practice session. He could save this money and put it towards a demo CD, which he could send to record companies until somebody agreed to sign him on. He could do something with himself. Anything at all.

Beau came back with a couple of bottles cradled in his arms. Lunar sighed and smiled. "Just open my tab now, barkeep."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

PROMPT: Your character has just won a large sum of money. How do they react? How do they spend it?

 

Sebastian strode past two gleaming cars in the front port of the estate, one black and the other an obnoxious shade of yellow. Slightly confused, he entered the house, ushered in by the doorman, and almost ran straight into a piece of marble statuary. "What the hell--!"

That, was not here this morning....I'm positive of it, he thought to himself as he carefully circled around it. Taking a few steps back, he looked at the sculpture n full.

This might be even more loathsome than that car... Before him stood an expertly carved, uniquely enlarged wolf-man, consuming and also engaged with two humans, one of each sex. There was only one person who would want this art piece. Only one person who would be stupid enough to actually commission it. Only one person who would be able to give the details of such an escapade. Sebastian continued through the house, heading towards the back gardens. It was a nice enough day, that he knew, that one person would be outside, taking advantage of it.

"Reynard!" He barked out the name, the last syllable, sharp and pronounced. The owner of the name didn't even move. He lay, lounging on a comfortable chair, among strewn pillows, a cart with various cut glass decanters of liquor, and a large platter of meats and cheeses. The man wore dark sunglasses and his hair was conveniently tousled, giving him an air of casual disregard and boyish gaiety. His chest was bare, though covered in a thick mat of strangely soft curly hair that led to black athletic shorts, and equally fuzzy, long legs extending from those.

"Reynard!" The call was more of a command this time, and owner turned his head ever so slightly in the direction the annoying sound was coming from. A pale shrimp of a man stood before him, towering for once in his life over Rey. He must just love this...so tall for once. The man's long white hair was pulled back neatly with a grey ribbon and his suit was expertly cut to suit his broad, but shorter frame. Not the youngest of the litter, but certainly the runt, Sebastian portrayed a fierce visage, until compared to his older, taller sibling. Rey arched a bushy eyebrow upwards and drawled, "Yes brother? Can I help you?"

The question was meant as a joke, clearly he wasn't going to get up. Sebastian knew that and still plod on. He was head of the family, won fair in a fight against the other kin, the final victory torn literally from Reynard. His ear and jaw still bore the evidence of that night and he sneered at his brother, laying there like a sultan without a care in the world.

"What are those repellent sports cars and that disaster of an art project doing in the front of my house? I don't give you that large of an allowance, so who did you steal the cars from? Truman better not be helping you by giving you drugs to sell...That man is menace to society. And why on this Earth would you buy such a horrid depiction of our kind? The werewolf is eating them! In more than the dinner way! We don't even eat humans! Well...most of us don't!" That last bit was delivered with a touch of revulsion, and Rey could almost taste it.

He stretched out and then relaxed again, grinning. It was a terrifying smile, toothy and wide. One gold fang glittered in the sunlight. "Don't have an appreciation for fine art, I guess?" He laughed and took a sip of gin.

"And no, Truman didn't help me acquire anything, though his help is always welcome. I simply came into a sum of money after an old friend passed away. She was really getting on in years and then she just wandered into traffic, poor dear."

******Prompt******
Your character is going out with friends and trying a new activity, what is it and how do they react?

 

"Come on, Ness," the girl plead, in a voice more befitting of a younger sibling than an accomplished necromancer, and conduit of the goddess of death. Of course, Dacrya was also their younger sibling, but still. She was more persuasive, Venestus decided, when she spoke about life and death than as an authority on Saturday plans.

"Even Chromie-boy is going to be there!" Ki chimed in, and Venestus turned away from them, pretending to still be asleep, though the tip of one wing flicked in annoyance. It didn't matter if Sir Chromis, Head of the Golden Guard had somehow lapsed in his judgement. Besides, with his twin there, that just meant drama that Ness got to miss out on if they stayed home for the day.

"uh, guys," Dialeptos--Dia, they called him Dia now--interrupted, "Ness isn't really big on the dark. are we sure it's going to work." For a man raised solely to be strong and break things, Dia was the smartest one here, and Ness wasn't sure if that was a tragedy for the rest of their siblings, or if it just meant Dia couldn't be so easily written off.

They were certainly not going if it meant the dark. There was something that seemed to watch them only when their own eyes were sightless. Something that deafened in silence. Just because the rest of their siblings--excluding Lex and Chromis--hadn't met it yet didn't mean it wasn't there, following, watching. Waiting until one day it could consume them.

"I thought you said Liege Venestus needed to come," chimed in a hesitant voice from the head of the bed. Fantastic. they were involving the child now. Only the child referred to them as Liege, and only because the day they met her, they were in a bad mood and complained about new recruits not having the proper respect, with really meant they didn't want her asking a quintillion stupid questions as a means to try to interact, not that they wanted their title. Apheria had then continued asking weird questions, but flip-flopped between "Lord", "Lady" and a number of other botched titles (in a moment of panic, Lard slipped out once!), before Ness had, again, corrected her. The proper title was Leige, that didn't mean they wanted it used.

"Leige Venestus," Lex mused. "Well, that's a new one. My Liege, will you endow us with your fine presence in this endeavour?" Lex would be interested to know that technically, he was legally Leige Electra. And only because Helios was in charge of legal records and not their father. But reminding them of them meant revealing they were conscious. Which worked contrary to the plan of playing dead.

"You're also a Liege, Lex," Ki commented, "and Dacrya and Chromis are Lords and Ladies, and Dia and I are KIS, we all have bizarre-ass titles." Ness felt Dia flinch a little behind them. Maybe Ki didn't care where she was from--or, half from--but Dia did. Ki loved to make fun of the fact they were both technically under a "kill on sight" order by law, but also half-related to the royal advisor. She loved the hypocrisy of it all. It hurt Dia worse than she'd ever notice. Dia got treated like a monster in this group--after all, he was the strong one, he was the heavy lifter, the one who got unrecognizable in a rage. He was draconic, after all. No matter how hard he tried ot be gentle, to be more known for his kindness than what he could do in a rage, if he went out for groceries here, he'd be apprehended, potentially even executed before he could leave the block.

Their father would commend the people that executed him, rather than risk his reputation for his son.

That was what made Ness sit up. They didn't face the rest of them, their hair falling behind them, making a barrier between them and the rest of their siblings. "Ki, leave Dia alone," they groaned. "you're all giving me a headache. Get out." They missed the days when being the oldest meant everyone had to actually listen.

Apheria got up and left, and after a moment, they heard Dacrya shove Ki out behind her. Dia cleared his throat at Lex, who muttered something and left. Ness turned around only once the rest of them were out, looking at Dia for a moment, pushing a long strand of his coppery hair out of his face. "Why do they want me to come?" they asked, knowing Dia would be real with them.

He bit his lip. "Cave diving. It's a nightmare, really. Falling, total darkness, relic at the bottom of the cave that Dacrya thinks could be important, but mostly they just want the rush. I can't imagine..." He trailed off and Ness had to wonder if he'd ever been to the Reserve. "Mostly, I have to make sure the dark doesn't...uh, it sounds foolish, but..."

"Make sure the dark doesn't see them," they filled in, "that's not what I asked."

"Yeah," Dia sighed, "Dacrya thinks the Thing that Sees in the Dark might belong to her goddess. Thinks maybe, the few of us that know It can get free if she does some kind of ritual. Chromis, Lex, and I have all been seen. Ki probably has but wouldn't tell us if she had. Apheria is a backup healer, in case Dacrya gets possessed again."

They took a deep breath, tipping their head into their hands and blowing it out slowly. "Great. So you're telling me, right now, that to get free of the Thing that Sees, I have to jump off a cliff, in the dark, and hope our sister can talk to her god without getting possessed or feeding us to it."

Dia looked away, shifting his weight and making the wooden floor creak just the slightest bit. "Yeah."

"And you trust her?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation, in the way he spoke. He was completely convinced their sister could save all of them. Ness had been gone in the time that Dacrya had become some sort of holy chosen one. They didn't know how far she'd gone, what she was actually capable of.

They sighed. "Well, you aren't facing the Thing that Sees alone. Let's get this over with."

______________

What would your character do if they had to face their worst fear?

 

I found this little gem buried at the back of the games area. I love telling stories and seeing what other people come up with. I decided to give the thread a little kick start.

Dorian moved over on the bed softly kissing Elijah.

"I love you." Elijah whispered.

"Always and forever." Dorian told him as he moved in for a longer more lingering kiss.

BLANK

Everything had went blank...

Dorian opened his eyes. The daylight flooded into the room casting a quiet glow across the bed. The sheets were tangled and Elijah lay calmly staring up at the ceiling. Still sleep induced Dorian admired the view of his lovers long wavy hair splayed across the pillows and the quiet stillness of the morning.

Too still.

Too quiet.

Dorian reached his hand to touch the warmth of Elijah, to gain reassurance. There was no warmth to be gained. Elijah was cold. A delicate bite marred his consorts pale skin. Red drops stained the pillow beneath.

Dorian could taste the blood in his mouth. He knew. He knew what he had done.

Dorian screamed.

His worse fear had come to light.

| Prompt |

Was it simply luck that had caused your character to turn down this street?
What unusual circumstance do they find themselves in, and how do they get out of it?

 

Ahhhhhh thank you for resurrecting this game, holy crap. I didn't think it was ever coming back!!! I had to get this rolling as quickly as possible.
__________

There was no way other than forward.

Sure, it looked like there were choices. She was at a 4 way intersection, and only one road led into the alley. Syn could have, theoretically, gone three other ways, or, if sufficiently motivated, developed a fourth, by parkouring up the side of the brick building behind her.

That choice was an illusion. There was only one way she could go.

Down the mouth of the alley stood a figure who plagued her dreams--a tall, slender man, with white and red hair, braided back on one side, and black lips--black as death itself.

He'd killed her 6 times, to this point, in six other lives. She knew him under a myriad of names and identities, but the one he'd taken in modern time was Ouranos, and he was always the shadow on her vision. The secret was, it didn't matter which way she walked--he'd warp reality, so that she headed down the alley. The only way to hold him at bay was to stand still.

"Syndara?" his voice floated down the alley, echoing in her head, "Syn... you cannot hold still for the rest of your life. Are you ready to end this game?"

Was she ready?

She'd spent a hundred years preparing before he found her. She'd had symbols of all the people he cut down inked into her skin, so that she could give life to all the people she'd been. With more time, she could get stronger, faster, sharper, but the quest to match his power would never be fulfilled unless she turned herself into the monster that he was--the one line she refused to cross, even if before she'd considered it.

She took a deep breath, held her head high, and started down the path that led away from him. Drawing a sword into each hand, she watched the air before her warp and shudder, as though it were made of some kind of film, and there were hands pressing and tearing at it. The surroundings around her changed, so that before her was the alley, and Ouranos, and the finality of their little showdown.

Red sigils illuminated on both blades as she pressed forward, her black eyes meeting his red, and she faced him back the question he'd posed her: "Ouranos, are you prepared for another ending to our little game? Do you remember what death tastes like?"

Reality unbent, clearing up before her, showing her the shops that used to be down that street, and she turned on her heel to see him give her a seemingly unbothered wave, as he faded into shadow.

His voice echoed in her head: "Not tonight, my love, but soon."

She sheathed her blades, dispelling the minor illusion charm that made them glow like significantly scarier weapons than they were. It surprised her just a little that he'd fallen for the obvious bluff. For all he talked about their dance transcending the bounds of her life, he'd never really known her.

Syndara lived to play again.

| Prompt |

Your character has a chance to go somewhere they've never been able to before. Do they take the opportunity? What do they have to leave behind if they do?

 

Brother and sister Ophelia and Apollo are arguing in their shabby rundown studio apartment that they share together. Ophelia is wearing a plaid green shirt and green shorts, she has on flowered sneakers, her messy tired hair is long and black with bangs. Apollo her slightly younger brother has his black hair carefully styled so that his ear piercing's can be seen, his hair falls in his eyes with a low bang, he is wearing guy-liner and black nail polish, and he's dressed fashionably in black.

Ophelia: It's rediculous! I know that you want to do this Apollo but it's not affordable!

Apollo: It is affordable. I spent an entire year saving for this school field trip to London after I missed the one to Paris last year. I have the money to go. This might be my only time to travel out of this country.

Ophelia: The trip costs $5,000 dollars! That is half of what you make in a year at your afternoon job!

Apollo: It's $5,000 that I saved a full year for! It's my money to spend.

Ophelia: We have to think of our future! You can't keep up with the rich kids that go to school with us! That amount of money is nothing to them! It took you a year for you to save it!

Apollo: I bet you didn't think at all about that when you ran around with your rich boyfriend on his wallet last year!

Ophelia: Ex-boyfriend, and that's a low blow.

Apollo: Who paid all of the bills when you took off with him and lost your job because he was more important then keeping a roof over our heads?

Ophelia: You did. I'm sorry about that. I really am. I shouldn't have left you to handle everything.

Apollo: That's not the point. Despite that, I still saved for this school field trip. I'm better at managing money then you are. I put this aside exactly for what I am using it for, and I intend to do this. It was a lot to save for, and I probably won't be able to go on next years school trip at all, but I am going on this one.

Ophelia: I don't know what to say.

Apollo: Don't say anything. I'll see you when I get back.

____________________________________________________________

Writing Prompt:

While out and about your character looses something very important to them. What is it? What do they do to get it back?

 

If the wind turns, if I hit a squall
Allow the ground to find its brutal way to me
If I should fall on that day
I only pray, don't fall away from me
~Icarian Carrion (Hozier)

Gone.

It was all gone. It's missing. Her desperate hands scrabbled through every pocket--jacket, skirt, down her shirt, searching so roughly she tore the fabric of her blouse, exposing a fair bit more of skin than was visible when she'd dressed.

Her back ached. The gory stumps that were once her wings throbbed--the fire had cauterized them enough that she wasn't at risk of bleeding out from them, but they ached so badly it made her teeth hurt vicariously--like more of her body experienced the hurt sympathetically. That hurt had nothing on the icy spike of fear that plunged in her gut like a dagger.

She tore the fabric of the pockets, shoving sharp nails through it, and then making a loud, frustrated growl when they did not yield her what she'd lost--a single crystal, carved into a rudimentary heart--rose quartz with a black impurity that spiked a few lines of darkness through the otherwise pastel, ortherwise perfect crystal.

When Ash had given it to her, Liriel had commented that she was the blackness--she was the infection on Ash's perfect heart. Ash had told her back that if Liriel was corruption, she'd despise a clean heart, empty of the sin of loving her. What worth was a heart that was perfect and cold, but had never held another in its depths, deep as a fatal wound?

To love Liriel was to be impaled in the heart, but trust that somehow you would not die of it.

Had Ash died of it?

Liriel could remember little from the fall--most of her attention had been devoted to the gut-wrenchingly agonizing pain of her wings burning, but as she fell, she could see a blur of white--she saw her lover falling beside her. She'd reached for Ash's hand, so that they would fall, and they would die, if it was their lot to, but if they fell, they fell together.

She'd cut Ash's palm with her nails, but not found purchase. Her fingers were weak, much too weak to hold on, and now the stone that let her track Ash's soul was gone from her, and they were stuck in nine planes of wasteland, not even sure if the other lived.

Morbidly, she put her lips to her shaking fingers, still red from either Ash's blood or her own, closed her eyes, and tasted copper--the copper of spilled blood. She'd promised Ash she'd be the most painful experience of her life, and by the gods, she'd thought they had more time before she'd made that true. The taste of her suffering was bittersweet, the last she'd have of the woman she loved, and she drank it deeply off her shaking hands.

**

It was years later that the crystal was found, after Liriel, on borrowed wings that never felt like home, had flown the lengths of every corner of Hell, searching for a white spot, bright as the moon. She never found her--nothing so immaculate as her Ash, barring her twin brother, who charged Liriel with her murder for not being able to hold onto her when it counted.

She accepted that charge. She'd promised her, If we fall we fall together, and not held to her word. In Hell, that was as good as murder.

She found the crystal running from the Devil she'd allied herself with. Fleeing to gather power to try to bring him down. She tripped as she ran across the wasted lands of Nessus, and the rock that brought her to her knees was their crystal. The weight of her body had cloven it in two, but it was unmistakable, though the pink had blanched to white, and the edges stained themselves red. Two halves of one broken heart. The change of colours was as definitive as the years without a word.

Ash was dead.

Perhaps, if she was very lucky, she died in the fall.

Liriel did not get up. She didn't keep running, though she knew she would soon. She cradled the broken stone in her cupped hands, pressed it into her chest, and sobbed brokenly--a secret funeral to an angel that the world forgot, but Liriel never would. If she got caught, if it all came crashing down around her, all that mattered was that she had this stone heart in her fists--what remained of her lover would make her strong enough to face the king of Hell and spit in his eyes.

Not yet.

She pulled herself to her feet, tucked the rough-edged rock down her shirt so it sat over her heart, and ran to the edge of the cliff, where her portal out awaited.

As she jumped, she told herself she'd find the soul if she survived the coming fight. She closed her eyes, and she pictured the only person she'd ever loved, and she didn't feel air, or gravity, or fear as she fell toward the portal.

It was you all the way down.

____________________________________________________________

Writing Prompt:

Does your character like music? What kinds of music, and how do they listen to it?

 

Force loved most things rock and roll. He loved the grittiness and chaos of it. The loudness and the unhinged aspect. It resonated with him on such a deep level, both negatively and positively.

He loved feeling his fingers flying across the strings of his electric guitar, the sound of the strings strumming and plucking in his large fox ears. It felt amazing. Rock was his sanctuary, his escape.

He tried not to think of his parents... Their bodies lying on the stage, pools of crimson liquid appearing from the holes in their chests... He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the memory away, his fingers still flying over the strings of his electric guitar, the sound blaring out of the one speaker that was hooked up. He let out a scream that even the band of KISS would approve of before collapsing back onto his bed. He panted heavily, his throat slightly sore from screaming. After a moment, he unplugged the speaker and put his electric guitar in his closet. He sat back on his bed, pulling his music player and headphones out of his bedside table drawer. He put on the headphones and turned on the music player, more rock and roll music blaring in his ears.

He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back against the pillows.

~~~~
Prompt:
How does your character (doll) handle a doctor's visit?

 

Straight from your eyes it's barely me.
Beautifully so disfigured.
This other side that you can't see,
Just praying you won't remember.

Feel the pain that I never show,
I hope you know,
It's never healing.
-Blood on my hands, The Used


Dead people didn’t need doctors.

Shrike had snarled that at Coris when they’d so much as insinuated she had to do her yearly physical, but she knew it was a losing battle even when she fought it. All the people in the gang did yearly physicals for the goddess to assess what damage they’d taken in a year of fighting, and every year, Shrike protested it to the utmost, yet here she was, stripped down to a sports bra, and a tight pair of boy shorts, laying on a table to let Z scan her broken body.

Shrike hated how visible this made her body. Most of the others did it naked—except Coris, they had chest dysphoria, and did it with their chest covered. Shrike kept on as much as she was allowed, because she’d rather peel the skin off her body than let a doctor examine it.

It was stupid.

Z saw Shrike fully naked multiple days a week when they’d were changing into armour—but she didn’t look at her body then. Not even in the showers. When she was scanning Shrike’s body, she was inspecting it, and Shrike loathed being inspected. It felt too much like Z was telling stories in the patterns of her scars. Trying to forensically determine what happened before which rounds of healing, and how bad it had bled, and how deep. Trying to assemble stories from patterned injuries. Shrike didn’t let anyone who looked see her naked, except for her yearly medical.

Z had a body-shaped chart in front of her, with all the bones drawn on it, and a few colours of pens. Blue was for short term incidental injuries. Red was for breaks in bones—seldom used because most people with broken bones were in the hospital, and not up and fighting to sit for a medical. Orange was for injuries with light magic inclusions—like stone. Pink for irritated scars with no inclusions. Purple for bruises—when she was alive, Shrike had, mortifying, given Coris a hickey that had been marked on their medical. There was another colour—pink she thought—for muscle inflammation, sprains, and other irritation.

Kieran did not chance a glance at Z’s chart, because she could see her brow furrowed, as she shaded with different pens to layer colours. It almost never changed, except for the incidentals. Her ribs on both sides, sternum, a few vertebrae, and then arms, legs, hands and feet all had breaks that hadn’t healed at all in the five years they were documented on her medical, because if the black ink lines around them that indicated they were stabilized by borrowed power. More inclusion scars, that burned every time she cast anything. So much inflammation, Z just shaded most of the chart pink—her body was trying to heal, but the Goddess’ power held it at bay, because healing took time, a luxury she wasn’t given.

“by the void,” Z swore, as her hand passed over Shrike’s spine, and found one of the vertebrae.

“it hasn’t changed, Z,” Shrike grumbled, “no point being shocked.”

Z sighed, and said, “Kieran—I’m advising the Goddess to pull you from the field for eight weeks, so I can patch just the spine, and the ribs, and the sternum. If a spine shard gets into your cord, you’re paralyzed. If a rib or your sternum gives, your lungs or your heart get crushed. You could—and very likely will die in the field, if you don’t let me patch them.”

Shrike sighed, and said, “Z, you’re addressing your concerns to a dead woman. Kieran died in the hospital, five years ago. I’m appointed Shrike, and we all know I go down in the field—no one ever resigns from my spot. We can’t afford for me to be in a hospital, acting pathetic, for eight weeks. The magic has held them this long. It’ll keep holding.”

“until you push it too far, with another 36 hour combat stint, or solo-ing enemy scouting parties—Shrike, you’re too reckless to be walking around with injuries that should be fatal.”

Shrike sat up, and began to pull her clothes back on, ignoring Z.

“Fine, I’ll petition the goddess,” Z sighed, before switching gears, “the inflammation indicates pain, especially around the breaks, and the inclusion scars,” she insisted, “how much pain would you say you’re in, day to day?”

Shrike narrowed her eyes, and said, “zero.”

A bald faced lie. Shrike was in pain every second she was awake. Usually, it was low grade enough she could move, but bad enough she couldn’t ignore it unless she was fighting and the adrenaline numbed her up some. If she had to walk much, her knees got to be unbearable, so she flew most long distances, so no one got to see. Some days it was just worse, and everything was a chore.

The pain was constant, and at the start, she’d have given anything to be rid of it. Now, it was the only proof she had that some part of her was alive. Numbness felt like dying, because whenever she’d started to die, in Auratus’ dungeon, she’d slowly stopped feeling it. If she was numb, she really was dead.

“Shrike, cut out the macho crap. Your body is literally telling me you’re in pain,” Z insisted.

With a roll of her grey eyes, Shrike amended it to an honest answer, “Five. Constantly. There’s magic burning in my skin. There’s magic clawing into my broken bones. Are you happier about it this time, Xior?”

“I’d be happier if you took a sabbatical, fixed all the breaks, had the inclusions excised, and healed up some so you didn’t have to live like this,” Z pushed.

Shrike couldn’t look at her when she snarled back, “yeah, well, it’s never healing.”

_________
Prompt: how does your character (doll) handle something important they have planned changing on them?

 

(I hope it's ok to jump in on this! We just got to a town with some wibbly wobbly timey wimey nonsense going on that is somehow 4 months ahead of the rest of the world in our dnd game, so the prompt felt perfect for Vanora)
______

Four months. Vanora hauled on the ropes of another boat, ignoring the sting of old, weathered rope against the already abused skin of her palms. Four months! This trip was supposed to be a maybe two week diversion to get them all enough coin for passage to Avaria, but somehow, they were four fucking months ahead of what the date ought to be. Even the boat trip across that cursed lake had taken too long, but she was certain it’d only taken three extra days, not months. Everyone kept saying powerful enough magic could change time, no one could explain that away—what she knew from her own sight and touch.

She shook her head and swung to another sail. At least she had something to do while she and Raven tried to convince the others their plan would work. The sailors in town had been happy to accept her offer of help once she’d told the story of her own misfortunes. Whether her friends believed her or not didn’t matter and didn’t change much. Faolán was still missing, and, she was further from Avaria and the possibility of getting some kind of answers than she’d thought she’d be. She yanked the hitch know she was tying into place with more force than necessary, making the rope creak in protest.

Despite the sun beginning to creep dangerously low in the sky, when she hopped down to the deck, she started hunting for the tools to scrub the neglected planks. If the creatures plaguing the town wanted to attack her, let them. She’d feel a little bad throwing Raven’s plan for a loop, but it’d be a change form the arguing and the waiting filling the last couple of days. They’d finally be doing what they’d set out for this cursed town to do, so they could focus back on what they were meant to be doing before they even heard of any of this—meeting Aylarinn in Avaria and getting some answers.
_____

Prompt: Your character (doll) is going on a road trip with some friends. Are they the driver, the navigator, or in charge of (or banned from!) choosing the music?

 

“I said I’d drive, Angel, and I meant it.”

Addi raised an eyebrow at Valentine, before exchanging a knowing look with Mercury, who was shaking their head back and forth slowly.

Val’s eyes narrowed, and he asked, “what?”

Neither Addi, nor Mercury particularly wanted to answer that, but both looked at the other, silently willing them to be the one to speak. Finally, Sinclair spoke up, saying, “Valentine, we’re not unconvinced you used thrall to get your license. You choose your speed on vibes alone, you turn from the wrong lane, we’re all already dead, so there’s less risk you kill us, but I don’t want to explain to Wrath that we’re late because you decided the red light didn’t govern you, and we got t-boned.”

“I do not drive like that!” He insisted indignantly.

Addi sighed, and shook her head, and said, “Val, do you remember the last time I drove you somewhere, and had to stop you from kissing me at every red light so we didn’t hold up traffic?”

Yes, he did remember that, but she was missing the point.

“You did it at the first light—you’re as much of a hazard on the road as I am,” he insisted, to which Mercury let out a particularly loud snort.

Both Addi and Val fixed them with a glare, as Mercury assessed the group, and said, “Addi, don’t take this the right way, but you just got your license, and your girlfriend won’t keep his hands to himself just because you’re driving. Val, you’re my sire. You saved my life. You are dearer to me than any other person in the entire damn world, and by god, you are still the worst driver I have ever been in a car with.”

Valentine clutched his chest, as though Mercury had stabbed him, and Sinclair laughed. Mercury then turned to her and said, “Sinclair, you haven’t driven anything bigger than your bike in this millennium, and frankly, I don’t trust you to go where I direct you, given the Anastasia incident…”

“that was once!” Sinclair protested

Mercury laughed it off and said, “so I drive.”

“Dibs on the aux cord!” Val crowed, whipping out his phone with an antic gleam in his eyes.

Sinclair groaned, and said, “No. no aux cord for Val. The last time you had the aux cord, Chappell Roan and Killswitch Engage played back to back, and there’s only so much whiplash a girl can take.”

“Coward!” He shot back, making Addi giggle.

Addi would never say it aloud, but Sinclair was right about Valentine’s incredibly jarring playlists. He curated them on theme, and not genre, and so his “girls kissing girls” playlist contained both Otep and Katy Perry, and those would never play harmoniously beside each other. She loved him enough to put up with whiplash every time he broke out his playlists, but Mercury and Sinclair were under no such obligation.

“I’m literally a DJ,” Mercury insisted.

Sinclair neatly snatched the keys from their hand, and said, “then you DJ, and I drive,” unlocking the car before any more arguments could be made about her credibility as a driver.

____
Prompt: your doll is celebrating their favourite holiday when something unexpected happens—what happens, and how does it affect their holiday?

 

Leon had fallen in love with Christmas the year his baby sister was born. He had returned home from college and June had smiled - her first real smile, not gas - as he handed her a soft kitten lovey. After that, he made it a point to make the holidays as memorable as he could. He took photos, found the best presents, and decorated the most elaborate trees. He was even willing to take a few extra days away from campus life to spend New Years’ day with his family as well.

After that first year, when his parents wanted to spend Christmas alone with their son and infant daughter, every following holiday included his aunt, uncle, and their daughter, Marah. Marah was only a few months older than June and just as much of a joy. The addition of the two little girls to the family had somehow made everything seem brighter. Before them, Leon hadn’t bothered much with holidays or celebrations; it simply hadn’t seemed important.

He didn’t know how to manage his first Christmas as the girls’ legal guardian. He didn’t know how to navigate two little girls who would be missing their parents during their first major holiday without them. He didn’t know if he was even allowed to say that Christmas was still his favorite.

He still set up his old camera, decorated a reusable plastic tree, and wrapped two Dollar Store Barbies in glitter paper. He scrubbed every inch of his tiny apartment on his hands and knees to avoid waking his tiny charges. A proper rib roast was out of his price range, but a fat chicken was set to bake in the oven with potatoes and parsnips; Le Ciel Bleu had allowed their best waiter to bring home a few leftover slices of tarte tatin for a special breakfast. Paper snowflakes hung in every window and the TV had been set to display a cosy fireplace.

Leon chewed his lip, slumping in his worn chair. He didn’t know if he was making a mistake. There was every chance that Marah and June would see the trappings of Christmas and be set back in their grief. He could feel the bitter sting of loss and memories gather in the corners of his eyes as unshed tears, and he was nearly 24. Leon couldn’t imagine the strain on a six- and five-year-old.

Before he could ponder more, the bedroom door opened and June stumbled out. Marah followed close behind her, leaning heavily on the crutches she had needed since the accident. Each looked around the room in wonder, eagerly sniffing the air and peering into the kitchen to see what treats awaited. June carried two construction paper cards - one in blue and one in green.

“Merwy Chwiss-maths, Leon!” June noticed her brother first and seemed torn between launching herself or throwing the cards into his arms. In the end, she did both. She jumped into his lap and shoved the blue card in his face - almost inside of his eyeballs instead of in front of them. Marah was close behind her, grabbing the green paper as soon as her weight was off her legs, and suddenly his vision was tie-dye.

Leon wrapped them in the tightest hug and dried his tears in their hair. The surprise of cards and happy smiles was unexpected but so, so welcome. The happy morning bled into an even happier day. Holiday movies streamed on cable all day. The hot cocoa was never ending. The tears of the morning were the only ones to be had, even wishing a happy holiday to the departed had not soured the mood too much. The tarte was a hit, and the chicken, served on paper plates with canned green beans, was unanimously decided to be only fit for stock; there was a reason Leon stuck to working the front end rather than moving back to the kitchen. Christmas was cemented even more firmly as his favorite holiday of the year.
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Prompt: Your doll/character sees something spooky. What do they see and what do they do in response?

 

Darkness enfolded her—Darkness so thick and heavy it felt like being smothered in valve curtains—heavy, leaden velvet curtains. All that she could see was the static on her vision—the nerves in her eyes sending nonsense down to her brain so they didn’t atrophy in the absence of anything real to be seen.

She’d taken to looking for constellations in the visual static, just to keep her brain active. She said the names of each constellation, though no sound could be heard from her throat—magical silence rested heavy in her throat. Sometimes she shouted herself hoarse and she didn’t hear a thing. The only thing that there was to hear was her heartbeat, which had been deafening at first.

Mal pulled at the chains around her wrists, and slammed them into the wall behind her, hard enough pain bloomed through her wrists—she didn’t even mind the pain—it was proof she was real, even if the silence swallowed what should have been the clank of the chains, and the expletive she hissed. She pulled harder at the cuffs around her ankles, launching herself forward to pull the chains as hard from the wall as she could.

her foot connected with something solid—hard, but with some give, the way flesh had give. Warm—so warm it almost burned her to contact it. Both feet hit it, and then, unable to right herself, her head and arms slammed into it with force, like hitting a hot, fleshy wall.

pain bloomed along her forehead and her forearms where she’d slammed into it, and she screamed, terrified it was the blood god, and he’d come to finally kill her. Terrified of anything that wandered into a prison owned by the blood god, that could only be accessed through his basement.

As if in response to her scream, it shoved her back against the wall, the air hissing from her mouth, as she gasped desperately for air that wasn’t coming to her breathless lungs.

She was utterly trapped—chained to the wall in a place where no one could see her, and she could scream all she wanted, she wouldn’t be heard. Her only option was through.

still panting for breath, she slowly moved a hand in front of her, halfway to shield her, half way to see if the entity had moved. She’d barely moved—her elbow was still pressed tight to her body, when her hand grazed the surface of something, and then she felt, firmly, a hot hand wrap its fingers around hers. Much bigger than her hand, and much hotter, with something rounded and squishy in its palm that it didn’t press so roughly into her hand. Jagged, uneven nails pressed into the back of her hand, but she did not pull away, waiting for the entity to make a move.

“I feel you.” She called out voiceless, with what little breath she’d regained, “I feel you! What are you?”

it dug it’s nails into her hand hard enough she gasped, but didn’t dare look away. Slowly, pinpricks of light came into focus on her vision, constellations of eyes, human eyes, eyes with slit pupils, more than she could count, all locked on her as though they stared through her. Glowing, radiant eyes.

having spent months blind, Mal couldn’t tear her eyes away from the eyes. She stared into the light, as it repeated with a deep, booming voice that sounded like it was going to crack her skull open, “I see you.”

one massive eye opened, in the centre of its chest, amber and burning, with a slit pupil. Mal stared into it, repeating back its words until she could hear her own voice—High pitched and hysterical, a voice she could be hallucinating but it felt real. The edges of her vision hazed and tunneled, and her head spun, but frantically, she repeated with it, “I see you!” Until her eyes fluttered shut, her body slumped forward in the gains and it, after a moment’s consideration, slunk back away into the darkness.

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prompt: your doll has a secret—what is it, and does anyone else know it?