“Wait don’t shred that, the motivator might still be good”
Janey narrowed her gaze and scrutinized the smashed droid chassis. “Taren you never want to waste anything. This one is just rust and melted plasteel”. She kicked it.
The eyes opened.
“Oh shit, or not”. Janey knelt over the wrecked mechanoid. “Hang in there buddy, we’re gonna get you out of there, what’s your name and pronouns?”
The wizard had done well at the market, having traded all his fireworks for a brace of smoked fish, a goose, and a small kitten.
Reaching the river he found the ferryman disconsolately sitting on the dock. “Where’s the ferry?” asked the wizard.
“Sunk! I’ve sent the boy for an ox team to pull it out, but he’ll be hours. Rope bridge if you can’t wait” the ferryman pointed at two ropes strung across the river.
The wizard considered…
”hmmmn I can only carry one item at a time…I know this one…uh, kitten first, then um”
There was a pricking at his ankle. The kitten was climbing his leg. “I got this mister” said the kitten when it reached his chest. “You take the fish and I’ll ride the goose”
“You will make a powerful familiar”, complimented the wizard.
“Off you go boss” said the kitten, jumping to the ground, and mounting the goose.
The wizard took the fish in one hand, grasped the upper rope in the other hand, and stepped onto the lower rope. Gingerly he crab-walked across the rope bridge. When he was midway across the kitten set sail, prompting the goose into the stream.
The goose paddled strongly, catching up with the wizard midway.
“Capital!” called the wizard, then “wait, what?!” as the goose changed course and paddled downstream.
#WordWeavers 2405.02 — What are your MC’s living conditions like? Are they better or worse than average?
Wow, this question! A bit of background: I wrote the original novella, then wrote a prequel novel based on the history in the first story, then retconned the novella, worsened the situation and followed it with new events to make it a novel, /then/ wrote the sequel. It's her life story, now.
In this last story, the answer to this question is the running joke. The new work takes place over three days. She starts having been living with a fellow student, an ever-seeking-male-companionship elite who months ago offered her a free roommate situation—so long as the MC slept with her in the same bed (and her new roommate only sleeps well being held). The next day it's the couch after the MC is reunited with a former coworker (bodyguard) whom she introduces to her elite roommate. They hit it off. Noisily. All night long! The next night, not wanting a repeat performance, she connives to spend a (satisfying) night with her new boyfriend in "palatial" digs in the Residency where the main antagonist lives, but is currently out on a military adventure. Having reconciled with a childhood friend, the subsequent night she ends up on his bed, in a Residency guest suite, sleeping with him and a pile of thaumaturgy books they nerded out over. She regrets not having had more fun with him, but he's too sweet and obviously not ready for that. The next day, she's fighting for her life in a hospital.
Her living conditions are way above average, arguably superior.
Previous Living Conditions
Born in a nice house in an obscure village
Raised in a newly built mansion for a newly titled elite (her)
Homeless for months, having run away, living in encampments and wandering the east coast
Big city hostel for over a year
Gangland trainer's nice apartment with separate beds
Boarding house with aspects of a brothel, where she must defend herself
Leased a one room dance studio where she sleeps on a mat between a wall of open windows and a wall of mirrors, having no need of further furniture
A series of high line hotel and mansion rooms owned the Doña she works for
As for the homelessness, she was moving around without money while hiding her identity, and rarely stayed long. The worst was trying to sleep under eaves in the city during storms; she didn't always have a tent. Regardless, it qualifies as below average living conditions for a total of about a year. It did focus her like of asceticism.
“Hey Bud, did you see on the teevee they reconstructed the face of a Neanderthal skull?”
“Yeah it’s bullshit. If there were Neanderthals around today, you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from anybody else”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, say there was this one Neanderthal who didn’t die, he just kept going, and he was here in his car with you working as a Repo Man. You wouldn’t have known”
#WordWeavers 2405.01 — Introduce your setting as if it’s a character in your story.
[/Well, I decided to jump ahead in the WiP and write what might be the start of the next chapter. The title may be named:You Have Mail. Pardon the Dickensian texture; this is a first draft. —RS/]
I never expected a human habitation to feel as protective as my dorm room did. Sure, my lodgepole tent protected me through the blizzardy winters in the Fell Wood, as it did the wolf pack that had adopted me. I provided the tent, though. I repaired it, stored it, and raised it year after year. I maintained the cooking fire for all the wolves and cubs. It was I who was being protective, not it—or so it felt.
My dorm room wanted me to know that for the next few years, at least, it existed solely to protect /me,/ to comfort /me./ Increasingly, it did so as I added memories. Mother Wolf and I used one of the two small beds, the left one, piled with fuzzy brown blankets as needed or clothed with luxurious white cotton sheets that felt cool against cheek or jowl. Since I was tasked with the cleaning instead of the dorm servants, my room smelled of us, faintly of yeast, sweat, and a wolf that occasionally hunted rabbits but favored the cafeteria's pasture-beast stew.
The little red iron stove kept us warm through winter; the room's wood panel walls kept us shaded from the hot summer sun. It lovingly provided a rare enclosure—almost like walking within the orange and white rock walls of the slot canyons of the south woods—creating a remarkable silence in a land of noisy humans and huffing machines. This and its soft radiant cloud-light ceiling made me feel... what? Swaddled? Like being /home,/ as my parents would have used the word back on the farm when I was a child. My spirit books, fashion magazines, and papers cluttered the worn ink-stained blond pine desk. I ran my bare feet over the oval tapestry rug letting the patterns of wands and dryad trees caress my toes. My skin stuck to the cushy tan leather chair as I stood, but I knew that was it hugging me.
Situated to the rear of the building on the first floor, the casement window at the end of the rectangular space opened to the clay roof of a shed. Crisp autumn breezes fluttered the gauzy drapes as I looked out at the barrier forest beyond the stables, lit by the setting sun. The window conveniently allowed Mother Wolf to jump up, as she did right now, and clatter into the room as she pleased. She greeted me with an ever-wet red tongue on my face and backside. (A white wolf opening the front door of the women's dorm, with a key in her mouth, and walking in always frightened at least one student or professor. People called me their Wild Woman, but still never got used to the implications of the name.)
Best of all, as the special guest of Her Highness, nobody dared inspect my room. Everyone knocked, no exceptions. Wolf inside, right? Framed pictures of my boyfriend hung suspended by single powder blue silk ribbons, and they were /very/ inappropriate. Looking at him warmed me deeply, reminding me of being /us,/ together—so I didn't care that my foolish "civilized" human brethren might think. People existed to enjoy themselves, regardless of what nosy people might say. This room supported me as I lived here, trapped in the Townships because circumstance required me to learn to be "more human" as Her Highness was fond of saying. My little supportive enclave encouraged me to be me, and allowed me to dress or not dress as I pleased behind its closed oaken door.
When the House Mother knocked, I simply threw on a dressing gown. I turned the pictures around before answering—to be respectful. It tickled me that she never asked why I always smiled when I opened the door.
Look, I know it’s stupid but if you have a synthetic rabbit in Queensland you should NOT connect it to the wifi. They passed the synthetic rights law just fine, meaning synthetics of all species have the same rights as organics, but they neglected to amend the classification of rabbits as prohibited vermin. Rabbit detector van swept up our Josie’s beloved Flopsy and she’s utterly inconsolable. We restored a backup to a new chassis but she spotted the difference immediately and now she won’t come out of her room until we get the original back.
BRISBANE - AAP: Controversy has rocked the Games of the XXXV Olympiad as the winner of the 100m for Synthetics event has tested positive for a banned performance enhancing ad-blocker.
She shrugged, "Sometimes men need a little magic too."
The scruffy young man looked down at himself, then at the list of tasks he still hadn't completed, after hours, for free, "A little magical help would be nice..."
"To the gala with you, charm some princes, be back by midnight," said the fairy godmother tucking away her wand then pulling on her programmer socks, "I'll finish up here."
"Mum, this is Janice", I glanced at my mother and hardened my gaze for just a second. Remember, you promised no kissy noises and no robot jokes, said my glance.
Mum behaved. "So good to finally meet you Janice. Welcome to our home. Cass tells me you're vegan; I just want you to know we're 100% solar".
Janice smiled and blipped her running lights "It's great to meet you too Mrs Anderson".
"You've been dating my daughter for over six months I'm told,"----mum side-eyed me with her why-didnt-you-bring-this-cutie-home-sooner face---“so I think you can call me Barb"
"And you can call me 350c29b2-034e-11ef-a679-3af9d3cb546b if you like"
"Uh..."
Janice held a pokerface for five long seconds then laughed "Kidding! Jan is good too."
The kettle was always the right temperature for the intended beverage, nor did it require fire nor electricity.
Yet it was always cool to the touch. This tended to startle people, especially if they had placed it on a stove and witnessed a typical whistle of steam.
It had been created by a tea-loving wizard, then given as a gift to the wizard's favorite tea-loving Influencer.
It was delivered by raven because the wizard was too chai.
“That was close! If 007 hadn’t found SPECTRE’s volcano lair in time the world would have been at their mercy. No one can ever know how close it came”
“Still, we lost a lot of good soldiers when double-oh-destruction there shut off the containment grid and the volcano exploded. How are we going to cover this up?”
Fun Fact: the Duress Face that you can use to wipe your netslab when the cops force you to face-unlock it, used to be called “Duck Face”. Some historians think this is a reference to the slogan “Duck the Police”, others think it refers to an extinct pre-collapse waterfowl.
Goldivy was built for lounging; if there was padded surface, she would drape herself across as much of it as possible. Beds, sofas, armchairs - even the occasional loaf of bread; if she could get on top of it, she lounged.
Even her cat-carrier could charm her, if you put a soft enough pillow in it; it was never hard to get her to and from the vet.
Goldivy was so good at lounging, anyone who saw her doing it usually relaxed instantly too!
“The world is a chaotic system” the Teacher was saying, “and like all such it has sensitive dependence on initial conditions. A butterfly on one continent may, in the classic example, trigger a typhoon on another”
“Then why do anything at all if we cannot know the outcome?” a Student asked.
“That is a good question.”, the Teacher replied. “I did not know you would ask it”, and here the Teacher cracked an impish grin “but I knew one of you would. This is today’s lesson.”