@Michaelvaliant Wild Encounter by RS

• #Flashfiction of the class #suddenfiction < 750 words. This is a #1st draft written in one hour, so have mercy.

This was me living again. Sandals slapping heels on a forest path, the humidity steaming up from the ground as eveningshine approached, a map in hand guiding my way, and a backpack with a tarp weighing on my shoulders. I liked darkness and gloom; my room as a child had been a grey wonder of silence that made reading my books all day a joy. My world had become green in these last few days, and fragrantly pine-scented. Rabbits skittered through the underbrush. Dirt ground into my sweaty skin reassured me. Not having to care felt like paradise.

I saw the doe and fawn first, and they didn't look happy. The mother stared into the distance, then whirled her head to glance at me. I saw her body tense, before she nosed her fawn, seemingly to say, "The wolves, the wolves!"

They bounded off. At a tangent. I'd caught them between...

Needles rustled and I saw light peek through branches.

That direction.

Thaumlight! It had a sparkle to it only someone like me could detect. It wasn't electroluminescent or bioluminescent, or firelight. I mustn't be far enough from the city after all.

I removed my sandals. The leaf litter caressed my feet and proved I'd built up sufficient calluses as I crept forward into the warm dusky world. It wasn't my world, and usually not that of people either. The Wild claimed the wild areas between the cities and the farms as their own, and they didn't like incursions in their unblemished fair demesne. People who passed through respectfully never saw the capital-F Fawn, the Wood-horned. Those that trespassed—

Well, people did disappear. When I'd run away, certainly some people assumed I'd be one of those, but the broadsheets said I'd been kidnapped.

As I padded along, with hushed crinkles and mashing sounds, the shadows and the ghostly forms resolved from glimpses to a tall thin structure with a pointy bark-shingled roof. I saw a cold chimney almost as I scented last night's hearth. My heart beat faster as it all felt wrong. I glanced at the map. I'd paid well for it from a traveler with a rep. I saw no settlement, no indication of a border with the Wild near here.

Closer, the forest veil slid to reveal: Plastered and cracked walls. Wood frame real-glass windows heavily varnished, but dark with age and constant repair. Despite the growing gloom, the three windows glowed with thaumlight.

Homey.

Hospitable?

Someone like me might live there, but in this danger?

Between where I'd stood before and the house, a form moved. A branch cracked. A young man—no, a teenager maybe slightly younger than I.

In the shadows melting into the trees behind him, a glint. It was too far, but I knew those were caramel eyes, looking my way. At first I thought a tree moved, but I saw wood move as she tilted her head. On a deer's, that would be a rack of possibly six points. On her?

Maybe I didn't understand anything about the Wild. Less about one of my kind living amongst them, though intuition said it wasn't bad.

I bowed my head in her gaze and didn't look further. I didn't want to be invited in. I had left the cities of the northeast to disappear, but not in a wild sense. Circumstance had led me to be crowned to lead the syndicate after I'd been responsible for its director's death (not that anyone understood she'd become too stupid to live). The conservative faction would eventually kill me. Those I helped flourish with my advice would die protecting me. I'd done my utmost to calm the conflicts that caused the war, before ghosting the organization.

I wanted to leave no traces of my passage that pursuers might discover. I needed to "disappear" for months on my way to Home City. I didn't need the guilt of more innocent deaths to add to my personal tally.

I dropped my sandals with a measured slap to show I wasn't hiding, and quickly marched away from the welcome light. I liked the gloom, and the humid heat, and was happy to sleep where no one would suffer because I existed.

[Author retains copyright]

#shortfiction #fiction #sff #fantasy #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompt #promptodon #BoostingIsSharing

Could be an #excerpt from my WIP.

#WritingWonders 4.3 — The Wanted Poster by R.S.

Someone knocked with what proved to be a clipboard before coming into the conference room, and the various lieutenants' bodyguards stiffened. The thug still had a bandage over his eye and an arm in a sling as he walked in and discreetly handed the clipboard to me. I looked at the single page.

"Not a joke?" I whispered, my mouth wide open.

"No, Boss."

The poster had official diffraction stripes with rainbow lettering. It displayed two images, one snapped after I'd shoved the boss down on the seat of the brougham as we fled the summit, less than a minute before the carriage exploded. It showed me in a hooded cape with my chin mask up, unluckily glowering at the lens. The second was a bank image. The scale showed my above average height. This time my hood was down for visibility and my hair up in a gangland bouffant. The chin mask was intact. Despite soot from the riots on my face, you could see my flattened nose and brushed eyebrows, but not the most important part. I escorted the boss past on the sidewalk. Between the crash gate grate and her having just darted to my right, you couldn't see her wings or face.

You could identify the Old Harbors Post Office across the street by its century old architecture.

Fortunately, the image of me drenched in blood that evening, the one under the headline in the morning edition, wasn't included. The constables hadn't made that connection, except to the extent that the first line of the wanted poster read, "Detain for questioning by order of Rainy Days, Director of Home".

I shivered. The evil woman was too close to connecting the dots. I had to excise the Mustang elements that could take advantage of the chaos and to prevent the syndicate from spinning into internecine war. I was already responsible for too many deaths because I'd been too cowardly to do what I knew was right. This poster meant I had to disappear and leave the east coast sooner than later. It was if I watched my plausible deniability lining up at the window like a string of rats and, one by one, defenestrating itself.

It read further, "Wanted for questioning in regards to the Old Harbors Post Office and the Three Forks Bridge explosions. Suspected of transporting illegal goods and wanted persons, assault, racketeering, attempted murder, and terrorism. Goes by the name Gelding and other aliases. Aged between 15 and 35."

I muttered, "A two-decade range? I'm not even two decades old." I really worked on disguising myself, and it paid off.

"High-level thaumaturge without a limiter. If apprehended, shackle to a hard surface to prevent escape. Consider dangerous. Reward for information leading to arrest: 2 years basic."

I loved praise and grinned at being recognized as high-level, but added, "I'm not dangerous."

South Beach snorted, then sat there her chest bouncing as she struggled with a hand over her mouth to hold in her laughter. I looked around the room. The men and women smiled, getting the joke, but others looked serious. Feathers made rustling noises. They knew I had the kiss of death.

I grinned, handing the clipboard back to my thug secretary. "Burn that."

"Yes, Boss."

[Author retains copyright]

#fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #except #flashfiction

#BoostingIsSharing
#CommentingIsCool

#WritingWonders 4.23 — The Masquerade Invitation

Bolt held her wings flared out, making the metallic bits in the feather vanes sparkle in the sun coming through the skylight. She was either excited or very pleased with herself, or both. She practically vibrated as she handed me the sculpted silver foil-surface card, made to look like angel feathers.

I looked. I blinked. I held it out at arms length, as if that would somehow bring into focus words that didn't quite make sense. To me. "You were invited to a masquerade ball back where you grew up?"

"Yes. I want you to be my plus-1."

I snorted and started laughing.

Her wings flagged a bit and I reached for her shoulder.

I grinned. "You're planning on causing trouble, aren't you?" I waggled a finger at her and she perked up.

We'd both been pardoned for our criminal past. Trouble for us had multiple meetings.

She held open the card with both hands and warped over a primary feather to point at names. "The city directorate and commerce are putting it on. Those featherbrains that blackballed me when I tried to get into long distance hauling will be there."

"You're planning of rubbing your status change in their face. You're going as Captain Stormchaser, I suppose?"

"The hero who helped Director Rainy Days establish the nation? I'm wearing Stormchaser's actual antique armor daily... So... Why not wear her uniform? I'm having one tailored for me."

"Who would I go as?"

"You'll go!? You'll be my plus-1?" Her eyes sparkled now.

"You saved my flank and got yours burnt up as a result. The least I could do is the small stuff from time to time. It's at an aerie, though." Her hometown was a day angel-predominate city with buildings you needed to fly up to, or within.

She grinned devilishly. "I was thinking you could go as Rainy Days."

I rubbed my chin. "She's a giant—with wings. I don't have any."

"Make them part of the costume. You can jump magically between platforms, something only she, you, and very few people can do."

"She'd fly."

"Yeah. Suppose."

"Her's is a pearl white complexion. You may have noticed mine is somewhat greenish."

"I've seen you wear washout skin dye plenty of times. Before you say it, I know you can paint on skin patterns. You did that for years, and I know you were good at it." Most people got theirs near puberty; I'd only got mine a few weeks ago. Rainy Days' patterns continually shifted visibly over minutes and I wasn't sure she actually had control over what presented. Nobody did, except me. If I thought about doing it, I could change my spots.

I said, "I have a better idea."

Bolt looked crestfallen.

"I get it. Rainy Days and Captain Stormchaser together would be awesome. But... I could go as my mother!"

"The singer Midnight?" Her eyes moved as she considered that.

I may not have inherited my mother's good looks, or coal black skin color, but I could sing and often practiced in the shower, as Bolt had learned. I sang a show tune: Don't Cry for Me, Equatorim. Her song helped me visualize the stately woman I'd seen on so many album covers, but of whom I had no personal pictures with me as a child. She died before I was five.

Bolt stepped back, watching as wavy black patterns slowly advanced across my arms and everywhere else. I was thinking sound waves, them vibrating, leaving wave traces behind, filling up every patch of skin.

"Wow. Amazing," Bolt said. "Nobody will recognize you—if you dye your hair black. Red won't do. I can carry you between levels."

"I'll reserve the jumping until I need to startle somebody."

Bolt started chuckling. I joined in. It wasn't maniacal laughing but, by the smile on Bolt's face, what we shared was close enough.

I'd have to wear contacts over my emeraline eyes but, with my hair up, I could wear a velvet black fedora to cover my horns (Midnight's spiraled). I'd need a flowing knee-length Diva M's black dress with lots of black lace and maybe a sequins collar. The black on black with black so appealed to my goth soul! Me singing would perfect the costume.

Of course, my voice couldn't compare to my mother's. Nobody's ever would. For this, it would be good enough.

However, she had also been a spy for the Directorate. The reason she'd died so young. Bolt wanting to cause mischief at the masquerade resonated with me pretending to be my mother. Not being recognized as myself presented lots of devious possibilities, especially once Bolt pointed out the people who had hurt her. I was a devil-girl, never forget that.

"This might actually be fun!"

[Author retains copyright]

#fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon

#BoostingIsSharing
#CommentingIsCool