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Found 6 results

  1. Bah. Characters are a pain. I should be working on the rewrite of the last two chapters of Yankee, or on its sequel, or on Wild Life, or even (gasp!) actual Real Work. Instead... instead I'm cleaning out someone's basement. Metaphorically, at least. At least this thing should be shortish, probably about as long as Firegrass was. To tease, here's a bit of the beginning of this untitled thing: Untitled Story "William," Ben said, his voice thick with accusation. "What did you do?" "I didn't do anything," William protested. "Its just that there's a pocket dimension in our basement." "Really," Ben said. "Yes," William replied, nodding hard. "Where, exactly, was this pocket dimension?" William started to fidget uncomfortably. "You know that back corner where the stone in the walls was discolored, the one you didn't like so you put extra wards over it and moved the traveling trunk on top of it for safe keeping?" Ben just nodded. "Well," William said brightly, "you need a new trunk."
  2. TheZot

    Wedding bells part 3

    One last partial chapter dump, so I can clean my brain out and move on to other things. Woohoo! I won't be leaving this story alone (alas the action parts come later and earlier, but aren't actually written) but it is getting set aside for now so I can work on the earlier parts of the series. This is the third in the set of three I posted. The first one was the middle, and the second the beginning (yay for discontinuity) if you want to go read those. They're all chapter starters and get maybe halfway into the chapter before they stop, leaving the setup but no good stuff, alas. Just big teasers, I guess. Wedding Bells, part 3 William sat on the rough wood bench and leaned back against the rough-hewn wall behind him. The stones were cold and damp, and the cell stank of urine. He could hear small creatures scrabbling through the moldy straw scattered on the floor, and didn't want to think about what might be living in the bedroll on the pallet in the corner. One full wall of the cell was open, iron bars criss-crossing the space. The doorway was only a small part of it, just large enough to get a man through, not offering enough space to do anything that might give a prisoner a chance to escape. William looked at the bracelets locked on his wrists. Five inches long, made of a silvery metal, with eight oblong gemstones set around each. There was a ridge at either end of each bracelet, with a spiderwork tracery of lines covering the metal surface. Both bracelets fit William's wrists snugly, as if they were made for him. There were no seams or signs of joining. He knew what they were, dampening bracelets used to keep anyone with talent from using magic to escape the jails. The constabulary had been using them for as long as anyone could remember, seven hundred years or more. In all that time there had never been any record of someone prisoned with them using magic to escape. William gave a wry smile, thinking it unlikely that someone would have admitted if it had happened. Ben? He thought out. Are you OK? A moment went by before he got an answer. I live, came the thought. William felt a flash of discomfort with it, answered by a surge of his own anger. His husband had been injured somewhere along the way. He fought down an impulse to find out who had done it and hurt them badly. Do you need any help, he asked instead. He felt the chuckle in his head. I don't think the guards are likely to be too sympathetic, Ben replied. And there seems to be something between us. William smiled at Ben's wry observation. He let his Sight slip in and his mind wander, searching for Ben. To his surprise he found him, in the cell next to his, only a foot or two of stone separating them. Sloppy work, the guards were supposed to keep people who had been captured together separated, to prevent them from working together to escape. The wall had been spelled, traceries of the magic glowing bright in William's Sight, resembling the linework on the bracelets meant to keep him from Seeing, and keep him from working any magic. The wards felt like old friends or an old quilt, comforting in their familiarity. He let his will loose, warping the patterns and shifting the stone. He had never been good at earth magic, but the walls had been spelled so long they were as much magic as physical. A portal the size of a large man shimmered and opened in front of him. On the other side was Ben, watching the wall melt with a little smile on his face. "Fancy meeting you here," he said, as he stepped through the opening. Once through William let go his control. The magics shifted back and the wall reappeared, unmarked, showing no signs that moments ago there had been a hole in it. "We really have to find a higher class inn to stay at," William replied, moving in to kiss Ben. For all that the cell was nasty, it wasn't the worst place the two of them had shared since they'd been together. When they broke the kiss Ben stepped back and sat on the bench. "I'm surprised," he said, "that you could do that. From what I've heard of this place, I would have expected the jails to be slightly more difficult to get out of." William sat next to him. "Yes, well," he said, holding up his wrists, "these stop prisoners from working magics, and the walls are well warded." He took Ben's hand in his, twining his fingers together. "Look if you like." Ben's eyes unfocussed as he stared at the wall next to him. Despite the injury he'd had years ago that took his own Sight, he could share William's talent and shift his vision to higher planes when the two were in close contact. Ben raised his hand into the air, tracing out lines that weren't there. "Interesting," he said. "A good, solid ward, worked through the wall. It's been there a long time, from the look of things." Ben turned, his eyes focusing on William. He lifted their intertwined hands up, looking at the matching bracelets they both wore. "The wards and these bracelets are linked somehow," he said. "The resemblance is strong." William smiled. "Very. The spells on the locks of the door are similar as well. Care to take them off," he asked. "They're fetching, certainly, but they don't suit us." "No," Ben said, smiling at the man next to him, "the stones don't match your eyes." Still holding their hands up, he traced the lines of the bracelet on William's wrist, muttering softly, brow furrowed with concentration. A moment later the bracelet shuddered, then fell off William's arm in two pieces. The bracelet on his other wrist gave way at the same time. "Now that's interesting," William observed. "You shouldn't have been able to do that." "Oh? And why not," asked Ben, as he traced lines on his own bracelet. His too opened and fell off. This pair had taken less time than the first, even with Ben speaking as he worked the magic that loosened them. "Well, they're supposed to be effective on anyone but the royal family," he said, looking at Ben. The corner of his mouth ticked up, a half-smile working its way out, "and their consorts, of course." "Of course," Ben replied, matching the smile. The implication was very clear. "The wall trick was impressive," he said, switching topics. "I hadn't realized that you were so adept with earth magics. That would've been handy when we were dealing with the D'zgan tunnel worms. William blushed and ducked his head, feeling embarrassed like he'd just been caught cheating. "Um," he said, "I'm not that good." He looked up and caught Ben smiling at him. He knew he'd just been caught out, though Ben was far from angry. "The walls
  3. These darned characters need to leave me alone, they really do. I think. (I'm not sure, it is fun being able to sit down and bang out a lot of text) Anyway, I think I can ignore this story for right now and work on the things that come earlier. Since that means this'll likely get ignored for a year or two I'm splatting it out here, well, just because. Probably splat out the beginning of the third chapter soon as well, since that's close to being set-aside-able. This is uneditited, even by me, just a rough first draft, so don't be surprised if the punctuation's odd or parts read a little funny. I tend to bounce around and sometimes reuse phrasing inadvertently. Wedding Bells, part .5 The Crown and Stone respectfully require, on this the one year anniversary of your betrothal, the presence of you and your intended, for the recognition of your union, in the presence of the symbols and kingdom of Ventania. William looked with bemusement at the parchment in his hand, before he burst out laughing, tears streaming down his face. The messenger looked on with bemusement, wondering if perhaps he'd delivered to someone who'd gone mad. William? What's so funny? William could feel Ben's puzzlement in his head. We've just received an invitation to a wedding, William replied, wiping the tears from his eyes. Whose? Ours, love. "What?" Ben's voice rang out from behind William. He turned and saw Ben, standing midway down the stairs, looking surprised. The long leather apron he was wearing showed signs of recent scorching, the goggles dangling from around his neck had spatters of orange glowing goo on them. His face was spattered with goo as well, leaving him looking owlish, the tan skin around his eyes showing in dark contrast to the fluorescent orange on the rest of his face. Strands of long black hair escaped from the braid he wore and arched forward, a few of them stuck to his cheeks by the slime he was wearing. "We just got our wedding invitation," William said with a grin, waving the paper at Ben. He'd managed to stop laughing, but just barely. "I like the orange," he added. "It suits you." Ben scowled in response. "It suits you better," said Ben, reaching down and leaving a smear on each cheek and across his forehead. Ben was right, the glowing orange streaks setting off the lavender of William's eyes and the white of his hair, pulled back like Ben's, though held together by a strip of leather rather than a braid. William caught the scent of citrus and sniffed. "What were you brewing back in the workshop?" He frowned suddenly. The orange slime bore a striking resemblance to fire daemon ichor, and Ben had been working on bottles to hold reactive potions in stasis. "This stuff won't burst into flames or explode, will it?" "No, it's
  4. First things first, though not necessarily in that order, right? This is part of a piece I shouldn't be working on, since it's the fourth (or fifth? Sixth, maybe, with the side-stories, I'm not quite sure) sequel to a piece I should be working on. Personally I blame Dio, since he's sick and can't defend himself. (and has the summary of that piece, waiting for a second read-over -- the first time he read it he was altogether too kind and I ended up savaging the plot. It's much better now, but that's neither here nor there. Mostly) This is, though you'd probably not be able to tell immediately, a fantasy piece. It's the start of either the second or third chapter, so some of the stuff that might otherwise be in here, like physical descriptions and such, aren't, since we've already gotten those bits. If you need a visual, Ben looks very much like the avatar picture I use. (Only dressed) William's similar, only with slightly finer features, lavendar eyes, and white hair. (And dressed) Yes, I do need better names for the two supporting cast members that show up partway through. Still working on that. I've got a little while, though I'd be thrilled with some suggestions. (Place names are all fake fantasy, people names are potentially mildly exotic western european) Wedding Bells "Are you sure we can't just take the horses," asked Ben for the fourth time, as he and William tried to finish packing the last of the two trunks William insisted they take with them. Ben had been growing steadily more antsy as the packing had continued. "Yes, Ben, I'm sure," William replied with a sigh. "I don't like it any more than you do," he said as he put one last outfit into the trunk. That was a lie, of course, and they both knew it. The arrival of their wedding outfits had sent William on a packing spree, digging through all the closets and cabinets in their bedroom, pulling out things that had lain undisturbed since they had moved into the townhouse a year prior. The room was a disaster, the bed and chairs covered in discarded clothing and accessories. The prospect of returning home for his wedding had, as far as Ben could tell, driven his love mad. Knowing it was hopeless to try and stop William when he was like this, Ben swept some discarded tunics off of the chair in the corner and sat down. On the floor next to him were two backpacks, filled with normal clothing and traveling supplies. Sadly Ben regarded them
  5. This piece started with a gag. Well, two of them, actually -- it does really start out: It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in Massachusetts that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness Though I know the original takes place in London, rather than Massachusetts. The other gag's the last line, and yeah I know, one should leave the gag for the very end of the story, rather than middle. Anyway, as you'll gather from this snippet the two guys are in the middle of something that may involve nasty evil creatures or sick and twisted people. That's never resolved by the end of the story, and I'm not sure myself which way it goes. The story's littered with clues that could go either way. Our two characters here are Dennis, who's a civil engineer and very much a realist, and Michael, who's a salesman andfan of the occult. They're stranded together in the wilds of Massachusetts (yay, Lovecraft country!) by a wild summer storm. The phones are out, their cells don't work for some reason, there are trees down all over, and Dennis' car has been trashed. They spend the night together (no, not like that you pervs. That comes later) at a ramshackle motel, and segue into a horror movie. To their credit they're both aware that they're potentially in one, and since the plot of most horror movies can be summed up as "smart people do stupid things and get killed" they try hard to not be stupid, even when they each think the other's nuts about the true cause of what's going on. Shared danger has heightened the attraction they feel for each other, and assuming they make it out alive they're going to be together for a very long time, which is cool. (And a big assumption, but that's part of the fun) In the chapter immediately before this one, Michael's stumbled across the body of a shopkeeper they'd met earlier. The body was pretty badly torn up, but when checked out later it was gone. They're holed up in a room in one of the old houses in town hiding out. They'd slept together and had some reasonably wild "we're gonna die soon" sex, and this chapter starts out trying to deal with what they've seen so far and how they're going to deal with it. (They do decide to assume the other could be very right, which is what'll get them out of the whole predicament alive, but I felt like ending this bit where I did for the fun of the punchline. Bad author, no cookie for me! ) It was a dark and stormy night "You didn't see it," Michael said, throwing his hands up. His voice had a warbly edge to it, like he was on the edge of hysterics, his eyes wide and wild with the fear the memory brought with it. "He was dead, Dennis! I saw him." Michael shuddered. "Slumped over the counter. There was blood everywhere. The smell, the slime
  6. TheZot

    By Design piece

    Right, I know I should be working on the last chapter of Yankee (and the first few chapters of its sequel) but I've been distracted by work and other stuff. This has been sticking in my head too -- I guess I shouldn't ever say "I wish I could write like that, but I can't" since then my brain will nag at me until I do. I think I'm calling this one By Design, but I'm not sure. It actually involves a lot of landscape architecture, though you'd not know it from this bit. Anyway, this is only a partial chapter. There's no finale (where Rick runs away, pretty damn horrified at the destruction and at how out of control he got) nor any setup. Two of the characters of the story are in this one. Phillip's a landscape architect who specializes in water features, both outdoors and indoors (which is to say he builds fountains and ponds), while Phillip's a financial planner. (Not that either of their professions makes a difference here) Rick's been essentially celibate since college because of two really bad relationships in a row and some bad stuff at home at the time -- given that he's in his early thirties it's been a long time since he's had sex of any sort, even alone. Phillip's been persuing him with some vigor for the past few months, and they've got a semi-bizarre near-friendship and courtship ritual going, as Phillip's been working hard to get under Rick's skin and Rick's not been running away. This scene takes place in the morning. Phillip's dropped in, after Rick's gotten out of the shower but before he's had breakfast or gotten dressed. There is a point to this posting, more so than just prurience (not that I've any problem with that!) I've never written a sex scene before, and I'm not sure it works out right, or if there are things missing that ought to be in. This chapter isn't here to tittilate the readers, either -- this is a pretty damn big change in their relationship, and it's supposed to show how repressed Rick has been, and that he's not anywhere near the sexless person he thought he'd turned into. The chapter that follows has some repercussions as well. Rick's convinced what he's done is rape. (Phillip's "I started it" and "Can't rape the enthusiastically willing" arguments don't work much, since Rick knows full well that it doesn't matter, he would not have stopped if Phillip had said so, and it's the disregard for consent that's getting him) Anyway, I'd appreciate a read-over and comments on it, since I know the blog's not really set up for proper editing. Stuff I've missed, things that need more explanation, bizarrely shifting architecture, physically impossible acts, or whatever. It's first-draft, so there are some missing transitions (indicated by extra blank lines), but hopefully that won't matter. Oh, yeah, and I'm pretty sure pasta sauces don't make for good prophylactics. Just for the record, you understand. By Design, chapter ten-ish (maybe) "You know you want it, Rick." Phillip practically purred that sentence, his voice low and husky. "I don't think
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