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still picking my way thru prompts, off and on, but i do have a full page worth for over here already, so i figured i'd post them. >_>;



rain. || nia faerever, hal faerever || avalon

"If you're not ready, then just put it off. Hardly anyone's ready for the season anyway, and those that are won't know the difference of another day," Nia had said, before she walked out, stiff and straight in her uniform, all of what little curves and softness she had gone along with everything else the world's passing took. It should have been disturbing; it should have been strange. Nia was always in the most elaborate of clothing, and this should have seemed a costume. Instead, it felt more like she'd finally taken the costume off. Her old-blood-dying-rose-red and burnished gold clothes had finally taken their proper shape. She looked like a bloody sword walking.

Halcyon envied her sister that. The part where she looked at stars and moon and sun and saw that it was time, that part was right; there was little in the ways she didn't know, she'd read and remembered it all. However, the part where she was dressed, where she called up the drummers and stood in her mother's place, raised her arms and hands in the gestures she was taught, her voice in words so old they'd worn grooves in the air into which they fit, she felt herself a pale shadow. These words, this stance, this dance, was her mother's, not hers, and for a moment, it all weighed too heavy, and her arms fell and she curled them around her belly, where her grief was carried like an unborn child.

Still, the gray clouds rolled in; the last rays of sun flickering and dying with the first rumble of thunder, and the smell of ozone, and the rain pattering down into the dust, within moments a deluge heavy enough to drown out the drums.




a cliché being used in a new light || shanghai and bataar || alfheim

She gave Bataar a nudge as they headed across the sparring green to eye up her crew. "You made up the patrols yet?" She demanded, squinting against the rising sun at the most embarrassingly fucked up turn-out she'd seen since they'd first begun.

"BANIFAEN, ARRET!" she roared, and they all jumped and swore, shuffling around, but for all the effort, it didn't make the mess any better. One of 'em was a full two strides ahead of the pack. One of his fellows reached out and tugged his cloak, and the first one spun and took a swing at him. She watched them go at it for forty clicks before they remembered, and then they turned bright red, gave her a salute, and lined up proper--or something resembling Odin's crooked cock's length of proper. Shanghai picked up on Bataar's amusement clear enough, even though she didn't look at him. Didn't matter, most of crew was dead certain his mouth had long forgot how to smile anyway. All his laughter stayed caught up in his head until it fell out of his ears and spilled out into his aura.

"Was thinking of handing you the south end of Apaldalr." He said, as if he hadn't noticed a thing. "Nice and easy. Not much of a way for your children to get into trouble there. You can thank me later."

"Actually I was hopin' for Langvaitorp through to Bredtoft. There's even less trouble out in the Flat, tá?"

"And...?"

"And what?" Shanghai asked, giving Bataar very big eyes and her best smile--the sweet one, not the usual. So damned suspicious, Ard Ceannard is. New one's as bad as the old one, almost.

"So you're telling me that you're turning down a nice soft tour of Apaldalr to go for a long, dusty, Helsdamned haul across the Flat?"

"...Yes?"

She almost ducked to avoid the fist to the head--and then remembered that this one didn't do that. "Which is it, Shanghai?" he asked mildly. "Gold or girls?"

"One of my Captaenan comes from Kaldhus. Says it's a fair hard place, but the girls grow up sweet." She grinned. "I'll march a long way for that, yeah? What goes around, comes around."

"...Cén?"

"It's something some humans said, last time we went through. Makes good sense to me!"

"...Ah. I see. Well, they're citizens--make sure they come willing. That's all."

"Do not worry! Only one that should be worried is my captaen, 'cause if the paidsleiker's lying, then I'll make 'im a no-brainer." Shanghai explained, cheerfully making a gesture as if twirling an invisible axe.




i refuse to discuss spongemonkies with you || mark & lucian || east coast

"It's all well and good for you to tell me that I must sleep. When do you ever any more?" Mark snarled, as Lucian poured the entire steaming pot out the window.

"Unlike you, I don't recall actually ever needing to. It merely passes the time."

"And you stopped because you're so much more incredibly busy now than you were last month?"

"Actually, yes. I've taken up a number of new hobbies. Also, I've been having the most disagreeable dream of late. Absolutely horrible nightmare. Terrible." Lucian said, shaking out his feathers for emphasis. "And I keep having it again and again, just the same."

"You?" Mark raised a brow at him. "Out of curiosity, what in this world or out of it constitutes a nightmare for you?"

"Well it all starts with me coming home from a hard day of eavesdropping, only to find you, my little darling husband, having a tea party with your former paramour."

"...A tea party? Are you fucking serious?" Mark switched brows.

"Yes. Quite. With finger sandwiches and tea cakes and Earl Grey. Worse, you were having a very intimate discussion of Brownian motion and all sorts of other stochastic processes."

Mark grinned. "Stochastic processes! Random or discrete...?"

"Well I'd say you were fairly discrete, you certainly didn't tell me about meeting him, and I didn't hear about it from anywhere else."

"Time! Discrete time, you ridiculous bastard!" Mark laughed. Then he paused thoughtfully for a moment, decided to hell with it, might as well have his fun. He leaned forward and peered up at Lucian through his hair. "So tell me." He purred. "Was there mention of a...Markov chain?"

Lucian glared at him. "I could kill you with this coffee pot, you know."

Mark laughed again. "I'm sorry, this is all too much. Go on! What happened after that?"

"Wasn't that enough?"

"But now I'm curious, and it's wrong to start a story and then refuse to tell it. I want all the horrific details."

"Fine. For you, I suppose I might. As I was saying--where was I?"

"Myself, nirovota-me, and Brownian motion at tea."

"Ah, right. Now, at this point I am not only shocked and appalled, I am deeply concerned, as we all know that physics is a terribly inappropriate subject for you to be having alone with him. So I made my presence known, and attempted to take part. And would you believe what he said to me? In my own house?"

"It's my house, Lainnir. I can't possibly imagine. What did he say?"

"Ah, no, at least half of it's mine now, Alain. He said, and I quote-- "I refuse to discuss spongemonkeys with you." and then he turned away again, in that same horrible aloof manner he infected you with."

"He didn't." Mark said, quickly schooling his face into the appropriately aghast expression. "I have no idea what to say. Sionnadh is normally very polite. I'm very sorry, Lainnir. No wonder you can't sleep."




familiar face without a name || cénzira/akhil a'drakon, the djinn || the great howling desert, avalon

"Zira! Cénzira, wait!"

Cénzira kept running. He ran across the dunes, his mind too a-whirl to keep him from stumbling, sliding, several times he singed his fingers on the stinging, burning sands. He lost his gondoran on the wind, and there was nothing to keep the sun from him then; spears of light tried to pierce his dark and sweat-slicked skin, and he remembered a story that was told, of what happened when the sun succeeded to free what she took for her children, the light of his souls. He did not burn easily, but he would burn. He made a single desperate grab for the taunting garment as it fluttered away like a bright banner of flame, then he swore and kept going.

Then Cénzira stood before the rock, and stepped into its shadow automatically, panting and powdered with glittering quartz across half his body, tugging fruitlessly at the belt of his loose trousers for his blade, and coming up empty handed again, when he reached into his soft-soled riding boots. He knew there was nothing in his pocá. What sort of madness had possessed him to run from his tent, from his companions, unarmed in the Desert?

The face. That face. The face of the man-that-wasn't, peering down at him from a top of the rock, laughing. Always laughing, because it would be bad if he stopped.

"How do I know you? How can I know you?"

"How can anyone know anyone, really?" The djinn replied cheerfully.

Cénzira studied him for a moment. "I was going mad. Because the face I kept seeing, the face I see now--he did not have a name. And please to forgive me, I didn't know it was you, because they called you Jin Amar."

He didn't say anything, but the smile was still there.

"Then--now, I remember. I remember! You don't have a name. I called you Jin Amar first. Now I have a favor to ask of you."

"Go on."

"I gave you a name. Will you tell me mine? Who was I? Who am I?"

Jin Amar laughed and extended a hand. "Welcome back, Akhil. Took you long enough. I was starting to think you'd gotten lost and were too proud to ask directions."

Cénzira's knees buckled and he sat down very quickly, and stared up at the laughing djinn for a rather long time, before he could think of anything to say at all. "I am only a boy! You could have broken it to me more gently than that, you son of Enki. Oh, my head."




unexpected nudity || the quartet of wrong || takomanohara

She undraped the bright red scarf that matched her wings, and unwrapped the silk of yellow so bright it vibrated, thrilling to the eye, and the wind caught them, unfurled the red and the gold together like a banner, stretched out longer and longer, while she stood a dark gleaming series of opposing curves, bright feathers and wild hair, and this was all and the only colors in the world, all that the morning could hold. And then a final snap and crackle and the colors spilled into the air and dissipated in the lowering storm, melted away in the pouring rain.

Kyria walked away from them then, and it seemed as if the sun shone on her, although it did not; there was no sun in evidence at all. Adavidarian stared. And then he saw Rin and Tiun walk after her, and her darted ahead, and stood in her path.

"What in the seven hells are you doing?" he hissed.

"I'm accompanying ye to Avalon, as agreed." She said curtly.

"Put your clothes back on!"

"Nil hea. They'll get ruined. Skin is easier to clean."

"But--well, protection against the thorns and-and-and branches!"

She laughed. "I don't need clothing for protection, I wear clothing because it's pretty."

"Okay, fine! Then you could be a sunbeam!"

"But it's not sunny today, Adavidarian. And it's very difficult to lead when you are standing in the way."




follow her, she knows what she's doing.... || the annoying!twin(s) || west coast

Hard game to play when there were fewer and fewer powers to hide behind, to mask his trail, and he was unable to be too far apart from self, both of them too easy spotted, glamour too hard to hold. Even fewer powers that wouldn't understand why he was running, that'd call for a stand and their words and support, that'd ask him for what he'd find hard to refuse. They were all afraid, weren't they? He just had a better idea of what it was they were afraid of; that it was valid, more than valid, and if they caught him in the web of words, duty and honor, he'd be trapped and dead, and they would all die together--he could see his shaking hands out of the corner of one set of eyes, because the other eyes, the ones they belonged to, were still scanning the crowds, and he reached over with another shaking hand to cover them.

He was terrified. Hated admitting it, what had they ever to fear before? But he'd had to admit it again and again, acknowledge the terror and terror's influence, including that in the calculations, or that would be their undoing too. He was thinking--Two heads better than one, always, tá?--and moving, where next and how?

He was back in the human-run territories again, what was left of the West Coast States, because while they could be seen, they'd also see anyone coming, and their hard going was everyone else's too. Unless she sends humans. He didn't want to think about that, but he had to, because all he could think was that he had twice the body to harm, and twice the soul to tear apart, and if he was going to stop thinking, then he might as well save himself some pain and put steel through both heads. He'd be back. Couldn't say for sure what sort of a world he'd be coming back to. Couldn't keep following this train of thought either. Time to jump track.

Needed a place she wouldn't think of, or any of hers, and even the humans couldn't get to. Place he could rest his heads for a minute. And then he nearly laughed, because this time the thing that made sense was the one he would've automatically denied himself, otherwise, and the only reason he knew was because he was still occasionally scanning the 'net and the news for them. Just because. Fading last remaining reminders of another life.

Find the girl. Find the band. They were recording in an undisclosed location. High security. The brother alone was worth three times his weight in alarm systems. Lay low. Sleep. Eat. Maybe fuck the terror away. And then the better to think.

How?

Take the chance. Use what they had. Use what they were.

He found the deamhan eventually, heard rumors of her the instant she hit, and he ducked out of the pack of kids he hanging with, all in jeans and leather. "Mom's calling me for dinner. It's her birthday, and all, so. Yeah. Later, guys."

And then he fell in with himself a block away and there was the instant relief and anger--it shouldn't have taken that much, shouldn't hurt that much to put even that much space between. No time to think about that either, just time to pick up on the force, the girl, so bright--how did anyone not see her... hot-wiring a car. Godsdammit.

Luck was his--a cab passing by a few streets over and a little focus to turn the trick, and turn him down his street. Tait to raise an arm and whistle and Aiden still watching the girl so hard--too hard, she'd pick up on him, ease up. Then he was pressed together leg-against-leg in the backseat and he gave his hand one more squeeze, while he gave the driver his orders, automatically sliding into his public faces. The show must go on, nil hea?

"Follow her, tá, she knows what she's doing."

"Oh, now, I wouldn't say that."

And the girl was off, in a screech of tires and smoke.

"Okay, follow her, she drives like a lunatic?"

"...Se maith."




the sun rising earlier -- light in one's eyes || the annoying!twin(s) || west coast

He woke up grimacing. Hid Tait's face in the pillow, while Aiden painfully squinted across his other body, looking for the clock, while regretting that he had twice the eyes to burned from their sockets by the invading light, and twice the limbs to feel lead-boned, battered and bruised. The time to indulge in self-pity was a delicious luxury, at the moment. So was sleeping so deeply he hadn't noticed Rhaegan's comings and goings--there had undoubtly been a few. He remembered joking that she was so unseelie she couldn't even sleep in an orderly fashion, that she merely cat-napped though the day and night.

On one current, that was troubling. On the other, that had been the whole reason he'd sought her out to begin with, so he could finally rest, and he had. A reason to celebrate, really. Or a reason to stare at the clock disbelievingly, pull the blankets over both heads, curl around himself, and go back to sleep.

He'd rarely rose so early before the world'd ended, damned if he was going to start now. He was still gentlemen of leisure, after all; he had reputations to uphold.




age. || annoying!twin(s) and leo || west coast

Leo sullenly picked at his lunch and watched the two freckled, red-haired sidhe boys--nil hea--men, as they ate. He'd seen too much of them for them to be anything near as young as they were projecting. They had to be nearly as old as Uncail Mark. Too damn old for his sister, anyway.

"So why am I not turning you guys in?"

"Because we didn't do anything wrong?" Tait sparkled.

"Patricide is pretty consistently wrong, in most cultures and times, including yours, here-and-now."

"While you were looking that up, did you check to see if we actually did it, Res Divine?" Aiden asked, wiping up his eggs with a slice of toast.

"Yep. I saw that years ago."

Aiden shrugged, as if that settled everything.

"Do you think that matters to me more than keeping my sister out of your trouble?" Leo asked him coldly.

"A little late for that, isn't it?" Tait snorted.

"You really should have let your deamhan-girl kill us. It would've been an accident of mistaken identity." Aiden pointed out.

"I might've, if it wouldn't have turned out badly." Leo growled.

"Good for us that it did, then."

"Yeah." Leo abruptly got up and picked up his notebook. "You may change your mind about that though, before it's over."

"I rather doubt it." said Aiden.

"Thanks for playing, though!" echoed Tait.
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