Another “wolves” story. A newcomer wishes to woo Ameris and join her pack.
Barrett offers her brandy, companionship, a handkerchief, but Abigail cannot so easily be comforted.
Sometimes names are just names. Sometimes they are symbolic. Sometimes they’re more than that.
Thomas was thrown to the stone floor at the base of the steps. Despite his shackles he struggled to his knees, refusing to lie there complacent. He raised his bruised face defiantly and curled his lip, though that made the blood flow afresh.
“Thomas Daniel,” he said proudly. He was named Thomas for his grandfather, a great hunter, and the family of Daniel had long served the rightful king. “Who are you?”
The woman sat on the throne atop the dais regarded him with brown eyes that were filled with distaste. “I am Queen Ameris, ruler of the House of Conrí.”
Continue reading The House of Conrí
A flash fiction fantasy tale for a series of prompts (see notes at close of fic)
(base banner image by mconnors at Morguefile.com)
Once upon a time there was a fearsome dragon. It had lived peaceably near a village for years, the two separated by a thick forest. The dragon hunted mostly in the woods at night, and slept in the cave at the foot of the mountain range where few people travelled.
“I’m thinking of calling it the ‘Steak and Slayer’,” JJ said, staring up at the currently empty frame atop the signpost. The previous sign was already long gone and the metal post had been given a fresh coat of paint. “With a picture of a stake and the font from ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’, and hope Joss Whedon doesn’t find out.”
“I like the pun for a pub serving steaks. But I think you should call it the Moon,” Alex mused.
“So I can say ‘Oh, I was just drinking in the moon’ which sounds romantic, even spiritual.”
“It will be true. Just not those sort of spirits.”
Alex laughed. “And people can say ‘I’m going to the Moon tonight.’ It’s fun.”
“Short-lived romances can be summed up by the walk to and from the village as ‘I loved you to the Moon and back’,” JJ suggested.
“We need a toy bovine to throw,” Alex said suddenly and they said in unison, “because the cow jumped over the Moon!”
Fandom: Original fic
Word Count: 302
Prompt: For the thirty days of fiction meme prompt #2 Write a scene with a drunken mythological creature
Summary: Drinking rum and swimming in the ocean isn’t the best idea – but not for the reason you might think
Notes: While this is intended be readable as a one-shot, it got longer than anticipated so I’ll be writing more of this universe for the prompt meme; all will be tagged c: nala
“Lookit me,” shrieked Nala. “I’s a pirate.” She waved the bottle around in her right hand, her seashell bracelet jangling against the glass.
Sera, sitting on a rocky outcropping, shook her head. Every time there was a shipwreck her sisters seemed to lose all common sense. Raina was still hunting for survivors (which would have been commendable if it were simply out of the goodness of her heart and not a search for a suitor), Tayla had been collecting up all the shiny flotsam, and Erra had nearly got herself tangled up in the rigging three times while exploring the wreck.
Nala had found the galley and helped herself to all of the rum she could find. She now floated on her back, hair spread out behind her like seaweed. She was staring at the sky as the sun rose, turning the clouds a beautiful, if ominous, rose-pink.
“Nala,” Sera called urgently, spotting the drunken girl floating away from her. “Nala, look out.”
“What?” Nala turned onto her front and saw the reason for Sera’s concern. “Oh, don’t worry. I is a pirate, right?”
“No, you are not,” Sera yelled. “Get back here right now!”
Nala raised herself up in the water and spread her arms wide, sending sea spray flying in all directions and the now empty bottle off into the waves. “Look, I have a legs.”
And then a large wave grabbed her from behind and threw her unceremoniously onto the beach.
Nala spat sand from her mouth. “Oof,” she complained.
Sera shook her head in dismay. The tide had already turned. If Nala didn’t get back into the sea soon, she’d be trapped until the next high tide. “Into the water, you foolish child,” Sera called.
The only thing worse than a drunken mermaid was a beached one.
originally posted at my fic blog Image made by me in Photoshop with a personal photo used as a base.
100 words (exact drabble, no warnings apply, originally posted at my fic blog)
“Hey, I’m home.” J kicked the front door shut and headed into the kitchen with the three bags of groceries.
“Ugh, why won’t you die?” There was the sound of something being thumped in the lounge.
“That is not nice!” J shouted, putting the milk into the fridge. “Especially since I got you a giant chocolate chip cookie.”
“Not you! I’ve killed eighteen of them but they keep coming!”
J frowned, glanced at the floor. “Do we have another beetle infestation or you are playing that zombie game again? Because I’d like to know before I take my shoes off.”
Title: An Evening Stroll
Word Count: 100
Content Notes: No standard warnings apply.
I leap atop the fence and stalk my way across the narrow beams, graceful as an Olympic gymnast. The moon lights my way, but I see perfectly well in the dark. I stretch and drop soundlessly to the ground.
I pad around my territory, damp grass brushing my whiskers and wetting my paws. The evening’s scents tickle my nose. Eager to taste the aromas I open my mouth in what looks like a smile.
A moth flutters past. I chase it, partly for fun, mostly from instinct. It gets away. I yawn, languidly. I didn’t want to catch it anyway.
Death’s Paramour – flash fiction
On the second day – our first date – he brought me flowers. Not dead blooms, not shrivelled black roses, but a bright bouquet. Cut flowers are dead or dying anyway, I suppose, and he told me that he harvested them himself with his scythe, as he harvests souls.