#WordWeavers 2406.08 — Where would your SC go if they had a bad day?
She's a day angel. Solitude is easy. Near sunset on the always hot world she lives on, she can always catch a thermal and spiral high into the sky. Gliding way above it all, the city she's trapped living in seems so peaceful, so devoid of people. She can make believe for a few minutes that the boss doesn't hold blackmail that would frame her for murder, and that she can soar off into the coming purpling dusk and start anew. The dry air swiftly dries all tears.
─ Non, mon Dieu, pitié, laissez-nous une chance !
─ Tu arrives beaucoup trop tard mon enfant. J'ai déjà lancé la fin du monde que tu n'étais pas né, ton espèce est vouée à disparaître.
─ Mais Dieu, nous pouv... Comment ça ? C'est à dire ?
─ J'ai décidé de la fin du monde il y a presque 240 ans maintenant.
─ ... Et pourquoi sommes-nous encore là alors ?
─ C'est que... c'est un processus très long, une fin du monde. Rien à voir avec les apocalypses d'Hollywood.
─ Et on en a encore pour combien de temps ?
─ Oh, très peu de temps. À ce rythme, trois ou quatre millénaires je dirais. Pas plus.
#WordWeavers 2406.06 — MC POV: When was the last time you laughed? CW: Spoilers if you follow me under another alias.
My MC's story is rarely funny, despite being regularly snide or darkly humorous, sometimes ridiculous like here. Because the "last time" she "laughed" requires too much context, this is the penultimate time she laughed in the entire novel. It's also a minor spoiler for a chapter that will soon be published. The is a slight revised [#excerpt: Two SCs are sitting in a high security prison, on either side of the bars. The MC is watching them from the wrong side of them. The reader knows she has slept with both men.]
He sat opposite my shapeshifter. They looked at one another, the shapeshifter imitating his actions. When it devolved to insulting gestures and the sticking out of tongues, I cleared my throat to forestall laughing outloud.
The prince grinned as did my shapeshifter. The prince said, "It's like looking in a mirror; uncanny."
"Yeah," I said, covering my mouth. "Uncanny because not a mirror image!"
#PennedPossibilities 337 — What was the worst job that your MC or SC ever had? CW: 400 word tootfic.
This #excerpt tootfic is from an in-universe novel I published online in 2016 that would include both my criminal MC (aka the devil-girl) and her SC (aka Bolt) as SCs, as told by the crime boss who wants employ her as his enforcer. My MC has a knack for existing well and without regrets. The detailed jobs and conditions were undoubtedly the worst my MC experienced, and Bolt didn't like it either, which foreshadows their eventual friendship. [I made a few revisions.]
... From what [Bolt], my youngest employee, could find shadowing her in the university district, she was looking for a change of career. She had applied for admission to the [Home Planetary School for Thaumaturgy]. She'd have to wait months until enrollment started.
I saw leverage and a desirable new hire.
Why would I want a security specialist who failed her last employer? Well, in CA's case, sometimes you can't save a person from her own stupidity [so I found the failure forgivable.] I also visualized a different employment for this woman's "miraculous" talents.
I gave orders to ensure the woman's efforts in finding a job to pay room and board would be only marginally fruitful. I provided strategic services to many businesses; they usually respected my opinions on such matters. The woman seemed reluctant to venture into downtown or suburban Home City. Perhaps it was that she was shy about being noticed as the failed security specialist for the deceased Doña. Perhaps it was because visibly healing wounds, time pounding the pavement, and days exposed to the sun and the elements made her look like a vagrant. In any case, she restricted her search to the less-structured more-freewheeling Lower City where I conducted my core business. Her life would be hard.
Surprisingly, this stoic didn't break. She saved the minimal coin she made first sweeping floors, then, when pushed out, cleaning ovens at a bakery, then later hauling garbage, and after that painting walls. She literally performed a dozen menial jobs before the proctors granted her admission when the spring session opened later in the month.
And during those months, she spent nothing. Instead, she lived homeless in encampments in the warehouse district. She never visited the homeless shelters paid by the homeless tax levy where she'd have to identify herself. She ate when she got handouts, even bathed in public washrooms. She even endured a week of strong spring storms, sheltered beneath the eaves of warehouses or restaurants after they closed, sometimes soaked to the skin.
The latter drove my usually hard-flanked [day angel] to tears one evening. The only thing I could do to stop [Bolt] from flying the [daemon] to her aerie that last dark rainy night was to relent and promise to offer the former specialist a position in my organization the next day.
The unicorns lazed on the beach, manes sparkling in the sun as their foals frolicked in the foaming waves, blending in, to the point they were almost transparent.
The sirens floated at the ready to alert each other if any of the young ones frolicked too far and too deep.
The herd leader nibbled on kelp, listening to the siren's matron, "And that's when the pirate knew he and the prince were in love. These shores have been peaceful since."
#WordWeavers 2406.04 — Antagonist POV: Is it easy for you to apologize? Can you apologize to someone right now?
If I made a mistake or bumped into somebody? Of course. Many people recognize me, or take a look at me, and something between awe and stupidity sets in. I account for that. I've survived the fall of civilizations; I can be charming. What I won't apologize is for doing things I must do, whether it simply upsets you or ends up killing people you knew, and all the permutations in between. My role in this miserable life that never ends is ensuring humanity survives. Nobody apologizes to me for saddling me with that responsibility. You know what really ticks me off? Questions like this one. Sorry!
Buying abandoned stasis lockers at auction has always been a gamble. You dream of scoring the one that will be full of gold bars or priceless artworks. More often it’s 500 obsolete electronic gadgets, or more jackfruit than you can possibly eat before it all rots. I stopped bidding after I won the one that contained you. I’ve treasure enough for a lifetime now, my child.