Third person

tagged Fantasy

That Which Hides In Light And Song

The candle lantern was a heirloom that woke bittersweet memories. It had belonged to Kat’s grandmother, whom she loved. The loss still hurt, after all those years, but this little memento helped her remember the good times.

Kat would light a beeswax candle, its light still warmer through the yellow glass, its honey-fragrance mixing with the smell of hot metal and taking her back to evenings spent listening to her grandmother’s stories.

She would sometimes nod off. It was those occasions upon which the spirit of the lamp entered her open mind, mining for memories of lullabies and embraces.

The spirit brought them forth into Kat’s dreaming mind, rebuilding a shadow of the utter safety she had felt as a child.

It kept her seeking the lantern out for company, more when she was in need of support, vulnerable. Singing old songs no-one else would hear, the spirit took wisps of Kat’s life for itself, feeding its own essence. Knowing there was a risk the lamp would disappear in an attic or worse, it resolved to be careful, make her last, but she tasted so, so sweet.

The title was a prompt by Tango

tagged Fantasy

All That Glitters Is Not Gold

Mary froze at the edge of the clearing. There really was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow! Her bare feet slipped on damp leaves as she rushed towards the prize, until the ground gave way.

The pot hid the bottom of the pit with a dull thud close to her head, spilling its contents, big, glittering discs. “Fool’s gold”, she whispered, and unsteadily reached for the closest.

“Actual gold is quite useless, you know.”

She looked up at the gnome who was grinning down at her from the edge of the trap. “You sure like your jokes.”

“I like catching friends of shinies. You will be happy to mine them, yes?”

“What? No!”

“You’re only coming out if you agree.” The gnome sounded like an older sister giving a toddler an ultimatum.

Mary snorted and stood up. Her hip hurt from the fall, but the pit couldn’t be that deep.

The moment she took a step towards its edge, the gnome lifted a gun she must have had next to her, and aimed it at Mary. Still grinning, still sounding cheerful, she said, “Or you come out dead. I am all kinds of hunter, you know.”

The title was a prompt by Tango

Bonus random fact: Pyrite was used to produce sparks at least in some wheel-lock guns.

Rewarded

Shobha Kaur enjoyed the view out of the window of the sparsely furnished office she was a “guest” in, while her “host” prattled on. Outside looked darker than it should be — some foil applied to the glass maybe — but since she did not think she would get out again, she might as well.

“Doctor Kaur, are you listening?”

She made an apologetic noise and turned to the bureaucrat.

The other woman’s skin was pale, almost grey; her hand when she greeted Shobha had been cold. Vampires not hiding themselves anymore was one of the recent developments.

“Well, then let me sum up,” she said with a sigh. “Our organisation is very grateful for your part in lobbying for vampire and lycanthrope rights, and would like to thank you with a grand gesture. Even if the ‘until they’re healed’ codicils were not all that popular.”

Her chipper tone grated on Shobha’s nerves. If Shobha could go back in time, she’d rather shoot herself than let her spread those ideas.

The vampire continued, “Your choice now: would you rather turn into a vampire, or a werewolf?”

A bloodthirsty monster either way. “I’d rather die.”

“That, my dear, is part of the process.”

Based on the prompt "A human key to allowing werewolves, vampires, and other fantasy monster types to go public is 'rewarded' after they go from hiding, to being in the open, to seizing control." by LilFluff

Grave Light

By Yana's reckoning, it had been a month since the king of dragons ate the sun. She had been lucky enough to join a group of two dozen refugees. Together they had found shelter from the cold and strangeness of the sunless surface in a cave, pretending the sun was only stolen to keep their hope alive. Something stolen might be returned.

It was all the same to Yana. None of them was the stuff you made legendary heroes of. The most useful member of their group of refugees was an enemy, even, a lower echelon mage-priest that had served the dragons before turning renegade. Watching him sitting in the centre of the cave, twitchy and watchful like a rat if anybody got near, she was convinced he had turned tail not out of and moral conviction, but fear of being backstabbed. It would make no difference in the long run.

He used magic to give them at least a few hours of light each day, literally making their days, and the effort seemed to warm him. The others in their coats or blankets, if they were lucky enough to have any. In the cave they were not cut to ribbons by blizzards, but it was still too cold to live. To say nothing of food.

A small commotion around the mage drew Yana's interest. Gilmey was arguing, his son cradled in his arms. The boy was coughing and shivering violently. She mage shook his head, and things went back and forth until he, reluctantly, agreed to “do something” for them.

He raised his arms and closed his eyes. The faint glow they had got used to spread out and brightened. Yana turned her face to in and closed her eyes, soaking up the warmth.

When raised voices drew her attention back to the centre of the cave, the mage was trembling with tension. Sparks and lightning danced from his hands down his body and up, crackling when they hit the ceiling. A louder crack sounded, rock breaking.

So he lost control. Of course. Yana felt strangely tranquil. She did not try to scream and run. There was no use.

Based on the prompt "The sun is gone, the dark forces have won and are ruling the lands. Magic is dangerous and usually ends up killing lots of people." by Robert S.

tagged Animals

Designer Virus

Ignoring her aching muscles, Janissa dragged the cowed suit across the yard of the experimental farm by his revers. It had taken a lot of self-control to not shoot him in the face. For what needed to be done, her shotgun wasn’t enough. She wasn’t even aware she was muttering strings of curses punctuated with repetitions of “deliberately”.

“None of the tests suggested any danger,” the guy whined. “There must have been a mutation.”

“Or maybe rats are not humans! Don’t give me your stupid excuses. Where can we get gasoline here?”
His eyes went even wider. “Look, I’m all for terminating the experiment and destroying the enhancement—”

“Virus!” Janissa snapped. “Stop the propaganda-speech.”

“Virus, but an uncontrolled fire might do more harm than good.”

“And risk monsters running wild?”

“Ah, well…”

Janissa stopped and faced him, narrowing her eyes at his tone. “What?”

“You may have a point about humans being different. They seem to be the only species that goes all, you know… bloodthirsty. The cattle just gets slow and apathetic.”

“That I want to see. And you go in first.” She emphasised her point by tipping her shotgun in his general direction.

He nodded to that happily enough, and led Janissa into the barn.

She followed wearily, fearing a trap even though her gut feeling said he wasn’t up to setting one. All she saw were cows standing where they belonged, placidly. As the guy stood aside, she had a look at the nearest animal. Janissa had no direct experience with cows, but she didn’t think its nose should be grey and cracking. Was it even breathing?

Her drafted guide had calmed down and actually answered her muttered “What the hell were they thinking?”

“The… virus slows down the metabolism, particularly in the extremities, but affects the digestion and milk production hardly at all. The result is more milk per pound of fodder, and besides, they are sluggish and less… prone… to…” He would down and swallowed in the face of Janissa’s glare.

“So everyone in my neighbourhood who wasn’t lactose intolerant turned into a zombie to maximise your profits.” After a beat she added, “Go away before I shoot you.”

Based on the prompt "Undead cattle" by Mayfly

Appliance Psychic

Things started for Andrew when he had a late breakfast alone, Gina having left for an early shift, with writing on his toast.

THERE
IS SOME
THING
YOU
SHOULD
KNOW
tagged Plants

Persistent Growth

The first time morning glory grew right through the wall into Rina’s bedroom was almost funny. Sometimes she let it grow up the bar of a shelf, which did not take long, before ripping it out. The blooms were pretty, and unlike potted plants did not require her watering.

Rina was still relieved when she moved to a different flat, without plants growing through the walls. At least there had not been any in the first week. Morning glory must really like me, she thought, when the first thing she saw after waking up was the tip of a twine climbing up the wall. Since the landlord was unresponsive, she closed the cracks they grew through herself with putty — repeatedly, since the morning glory always found a way around it.

When one spring morning she woke up with morning glory tendrils wrapped around her arms, she had enough, and started looking for another place to stay. Ridiculous, fleeing from flowers, but apparently “grows like a weed” had some basis in fact

She was lucky: a few of her friends had been considering buying a house, if they could find someone else to live in and pay rent. Rina jumped at the opportunity, under the condition of getting a bedroom well above ground level.

Living with friends worked out better than she thought, which she blamed on not having to share a room. It improved her social life immensely having people around to talk to.

The persistent morning glory turned into a joke. It turned into something else when her friends found her body, strangled by a flower.

Based on the prompts "Growth" by Batsy and "Spooky plants" by Ellen Million. Special thanks to Keffy

Antiques

Elke was not surprised when she spotted Regina at the flea market, only that Regina already seemed to be on the way out, a wooden box with brass fitting wedged under her arm and a self-satisfied smile spread across her face.

“Am I that late? You found something already?”

“Oh yes, I got lucky.” Regina looked Elke up and down. “If you just arrived, how about we meet next weekend?” Usually they went to have tea together if they found each other at a flea market, to show off whatever they had found. “There’s at least one stand with books that might interest you. And this will look better with a bit of polish.”

“All right.” Elke thought it unusual for Regina to not launch into a monologue about her purchase, but if the other woman wanted to make it a big surprise, why not?

tagged Nico Music

Fighting Song

They had got away with nothing worse than bruises and were catching their breath, Nico grinning like a loon.

Once he was sure the thugs weren’t following them, Martin told her, “You’re crazy, you know.”

“What? They looked at me funny and hesitated. ‘S a distraction.”

“OK, but that?”

“Think they didn’t know the song?”

“If they knew it, it helped with looking crazy.” Martin didn’t think the lyrics fit Nico’s upbeat rendition.

She sniffed and straightened up. “‘Minstrel Boy’ seemed appropriate. ‘S traditional.”

Traditionally it doesn’t use the same melody as ‘Pop Goes The Weasel’.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.”

Fiction tags: Third person Drabbles Nico
tagged Nico Daaren

Minimalist Camouflage

Nico found Daaren cleaning the kitchen table, and placed a little metal disc on it with a click.

“What’s that?”

“Tax plaque. Has our telephone number, too, so if you get caught again some other full moon, the pound calls.”

Daaren didn’t touch it while working through the implications. “I won’t wear a collar.”

“I can fix it to a bandana. Which still goes round the neck…”

He sighed. “It works. Do me a favour and don’t use a red one, though.”

“What is it with you and red?”

He was wound up enough to snap. “Red is for targets!”

Syndicate content